Hidden
by Avogadro602
Summary: Desperate circumstances force Helga into an unusual disguise, resulting in many awkward situations.
1. The Escape

**A/N:**

Hello anyone who happens to be reading this! This is my first fanfiction, and I have to admit that I'm a little nervous. When I was reading some Hey Arnold fanfiction, I got this idea, and I was surprised when I couldn't find someone who'd already done it... So I decided fooey on looking for something already written, I'll write it myself! I've always thought the Hey Arnold series was incredibly deep for a kids show, but the story was kind of unfinished... Hence the desire to write fanfiction about it.

Just a few notes before we begin: This story takes place after Helga and Arnold have just completed their junior year in high school. As The Jungle Movie did not happen, Arnold never found his parents or confronted Helga on her confession from the first movie. Life just continued. I'm being a little vague about the description on purpose, but if anyone has any questions feel free to ask :-) .

Disclaimer: I do not own the brilliant creation that is Hey Arnold (that honor belongs to Nickelodeon, Craig Bartlett and company), I'm just borrowing it for a little while.

**Hidden**

**Chapter One: **

**The Escape**

Helga walked home down the sidewalk, glaring at the weeds that grew up through the cracks. Yet another meaningless day had reached its end. Alright, she was being a bit overdramatic with that thought. But how could she not be dramatic? Her greatest inspiration and muse, the morning star she woke to each day, was leaving.

This was referring to, of course, Arnold. Despite her harsh exterior, she'd loved him since the day she met him. He still remained oblivious to her affections, despite actually confessing her feelings for him long ago. Arnold had been heroically (as usual) trying to save their neighborhood and Helga had helped him in secret. In a moment of passion, she blurted it all out, threw her arms around him and gave him a big smooch. The object of her affections didn't have time to react, as they had been pressed for time. When they had triumphed and the neighborhood had finally been saved, she had blamed it all on being in the heat of the moment and they never spoke another word about it.

All these years later, he was still the only boy she had ever kissed. Seventeen and last kissed when she was ten. Even the ever so perfect _Lila_ had her beat. After years of trying to woo him, Arnold's cousin Arnie had finally given in and they'd started dating earlier in the year. About a week later Helga had walked in on them in the janitor's closet, and after that Lila hadn't seemed _ever so perfect_ anymore. _At least it wasn't Lila and Arnold, _Helga thought, thankful that his affections for her classmate seemed to be long passed. Not that it mattered, though. He would be leaving tomorrow anyway. He was heading away to some kind of _camp thing_ if she'd heard right. She didn't know much else; eavesdropping on Arnold and Gerald's conversation only gives you so much information. One thing was clear: Arnold was leaving and not coming back for the entire summer.

_An entire summer without Arnold!_ Helga kicked at a weed and hit the sidewalk instead, earning a sore toe. Grumbling to herself, she looked up as she reached the stoop of her house, only to find herself staring at a halfway open door. With a frustrated sigh she stomped through the threshold, slamming the door behind her.

"Miriam! You left the door open, _again!"_ she yelled out, expecting her mother to sleepily call out from another room. Instead, her voice was met with silence. The anger she had previously been feeling drained away and a cold tension leaked in, climbing up her spine only to settle in her stomach. Unsure of where this feeling was suddenly coming from, she cautiously stepped forward through the entryway.

"Miriam?" She called out, a little weaker this time.

Silence.

_She's probably passed out on the couch again…_ There was only one surefire way to find out whether she was overreacting or not. The hallway broke off to the living room through the door on her right, and she slowly took a step towards it… only to jump out of her skin a second later when a floorboard creaked under her weight. Putting a hand against her heart, she scolded herself for her skittishness and shook her head. This was getting ridiculous. She had no reason to think that anything out of the ordinary was going on. In the back of her head, though, a little voice whispered, _Maybe something _is_ wrong. Maybe you should just leave._ Telling the voice to shut up and stop being a wimp, she marched forward into the living room.

A strong impulse passed through her to turn back around and go right back through the door, but she remained frozen in the doorway. Their living room had become a war zone. The couch was flipped, Olga's trophies were strewn about, a lamp lay broken at her feet…

She was shaken from her stupor when she heard the floor creak from somewhere above her. _They're still here…_ Images from bad horror movies flashed through her mind. Foolishly she'd ignored her intuition that something was wrong and had gone inside anyway. She'd seen enough slasher movies to know what happens next. The voice in the back of her head was back, but this time she was listening to it. _Get out now!_ It screamed.

Twisting around faster than she knew she was capable of, she turned from the living room and bolted for the door.

She hadn't run two steps before she ran into him. The force of the collision had them both crashing to the floor. Helga let out a shriek as she fell, landing beside the intruder. She took only enough time to register that there was a black clad figure on the ground in front of her before she pushed herself up, leapt over him and dashed for the door again.

Helga had been fast to react, but not fast enough. She had just managed to twist the doorknob before her right foot was pulled from underneath her. She slammed down hard on the floor again, her hand being yanked from the doorknob. The force of her hand being wrenched off managed to fling the door open and it hit the wall with a bang. With the door open, freedom was painfully close and she frantically tried to claw her way forward.

A hand clasped around her ankle and she screamed again as she was pulled farther into the house, away from the light of day spilling in through the open door. Her hands flew out around her, blindly feeling at anything, _anything_ she could grasp just to hold on. They found the edge of the door and held fast. She twisted her head over her shoulder, pulling herself away and flinging her legs wildly in an attempt to get free. As she finally took in the sight behind her, time seemed to slow down.

She could see the intruder, still on the ground, holding onto her leg with both hands as she thrashed. A young face with fire engine red hair and blue eyes glared back at her. Behind him on the stairs at the end of the hall, another man was coming down the stairs. Unlike the other, this one had dirty blonde hair and was not glaring at her. He was instead looking down at her with a calm, confident expression, like a hunter who knows that his prey has nowhere to go. But there was something wrong with his eyes; they weren't the same color. One was a blue and the other a moldy green, and as he reached the bottom step, the smile that had been behind his eyes moved to his mouth in an arrogant smirk. In that moment she knew; something dark hid behind those oddly colored eyes and it terrified her beyond belief. She _had_ to escape before he reached her.

Helga lifted her one free leg and kicked it into the face of the red haired man with all she was worth. His hands clutched at his face, and time sped up again. She was on her feet and out the door just as the second man reached them. But he was too late, and he knew it, because she was in broad daylight now sprinting down the street.

She didn't stop until she reached the police station.


	2. Tip of the Iceberg

**A/N:**

So I know that I just uploaded the first chapter, but that one is pretty short, so I felt that I should upload the second to give you a better idea of what is going on. We still haven't really gotten into the "meat and potatoes" of story, but some important things are revealed in this chapter... Hopefully you'll like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold.

**Chapter 2: **

**Tip of the Iceberg **

Helga burst through the police station doors and sagged against the wall. She was alive! She had arrived at a place of safety; now what? She knew she should tell the police something, but her thoughts were scattered and confused. Panting heavily, she took a moment to gather her thoughts (and her breath). _What exactly just happened?_ She had been in danger, that much she knew. Obviously, the house had been broken into as well. _So it was… a robbery?_ She thought back to the look the blue-green eyed man had given her and shivered, despite the stuffy heat of the station.

A thought struck her and she froze. _Bob and Miriam!_ She hadn't seen them, but were they still in the house? Had the men done something to them? Were they arriving there this very minute? A desk sat further into the station, behind which a bored looking woman with thick glasses sat staring at her computer. She hadn't even bothered to look up when Helga had entered. _Nice security for a police station,_ she thought sarcastically. Helga pushed herself off the wall and quickly stepped up to the receptionist's desk.

"Do you have a phone?" she asked, hoping she wouldn't have to search elsewhere. The woman looked up from her screen and raised her eyebrows slightly.

"What, a little hipster like you doesn't have a cell phone? Nonsense." With this dismissal the receptionist looked back to her screen, and Helga noticed with some irritation that she was chewing gum.

"Obviously," _you moron, _Helga added silently as she growled out her reply_, _"I don't or I wouldn't be asking." Big Bob's Beepers may have started to sell cell phones a while back, but he hadn't bothered to give his daughter one. _Maybe he finally will after this... _if_ he's alright._ She waited impatiently for the receptionist to look up from her computer again and answer.

With a sigh the woman started digging through her purse. "Well, I can't let you use the station phone. That line has to be kept free. But I _guess_ you could use _my_ cell phone." She finally lifted the object from her purse and grudgingly held it out for Helga to take. "But be _careful_ with it." Helga grabbed the phone and immediately started dialing. Unlike his daughter, Big Bob actually had a cell phone.

_Ring…_

_Ring…_

Maybe he was busy at the office or something…

_Ring…_

…or being killed…

She began to bite her nails. The receptionist's lip curled up in disgust, but Helga was too distracted to notice as the other line finally picked up. She let out a large breath as her father's gruff voice flooded into her ears.

"Hello? Who is this?" He didn't sound happy, but she didn't care.

"Dad!" she shouted into the phone, not using his name for once. "Where are you? Is mom with you?"

"Helga? What's this about?"

"Our house was broken into—or something; I'm not sure. I'm at the police station right now, but the important thing is that you and Miriam don't go to the house. Are you getting this? _Don't go home_."

"We've been ROBBED?" His roar was so loud that Helga had to move the phone away from her ear. When she put it back, she was relieved to hear her mother's voice mixed in the chaos. Despite Bob having not answered her question, she knew her mother was safe.

Not wanting to face the many questions Bob would have while on the phone, she steered the conversation towards its end. "Look Bob, you and Miriam should probably just head over to the Police station. I'll… have them send a car or something." Before he could argue, she ended the call and handed the phone back to the receptionist, whose attention she had now.

"Alright," the woman began while fishing some paper out of a file, "I'll need your address so that we can send someone to your house, and if you want to get a formal report filed you'll need to fill these out." She thrust a large stack of recently revealed forms into Helga's hands, pointing to some uncomfortable sitting to their right. Helga sat down and got to work.

* * *

After what seemed like forever, Helga's parents had finally arrived. Apparently, Bob had managed to book two meetings with important clients at the exact same time, and he had reluctantly called Miriam in to attend one for himself. They had just met up with each other again when Helga called.

By the time her parents arrived, the police had also reported back to the station after checking out their house. The intruders had been nowhere to be seen, with only the broken remains of the inside of their house as evidence of what happened. All that was left to do now was to record Helga's experience. This was why they were now all stuck in a tiny corner office of the police station, waiting for the officer to finish his questioning.

Helga was sitting dead center, facing a youthful and surprisingly eager looking police officer who sat behind a desk. Bob and Miriam sat off to the side, waiting for it to be over and mumbling to each other about insurance.

"So let me get this straight," the officer said, "You came home from school to find your front door ajar, and when you went inside you found your living room torn up. And that's when you decided that you should leave?"

"Yeah."

"But you ran into the intruder... I'm a bit unclear on how you got out after that. You said he grabbed you, but you were on the floor at the time?"

Feeling both a little frustrated and defensive at having to explain herself multiple times, Helga responded. "When I ran into him we both fell down. So we were on the floor then, but I got up and tried for the door again, and that's when he grabbed my ankle."

"And that's when you went to the floor again? For the second time?"

"_Yes_, I was on the floor again, Geez. And then I looked over my shoulder, saw the other guy on the stairs, kicked the ginger kid in the face and got the hell out of there."

"Helga!" Mr. Pataki reprimanded his daughter for her mouth.

Helga scoffed and crossed her arms. "Who do you think I learned it from, _Bob?"_ she asked, sending a pointed look at her father.

The officer cleared his throat, trying to restore order. "If we could return to the current situation, please?" He looked at Mr. Pataki, who just grunted, and then looked back to Helga. Helga glared off into a corner but stayed silent, which the officer took as agreement or at least cooperation. "Describe the intruders to me again if you will, but try to remember as many details as you can."

"If you i_nsist,_" She growled unhappily, but Helga's glare soon faded as she focused her mind on bringing back details. "The first one, the one who grabbed me, he was... fairly young, I think. Definitely taller than me, but I'm not sure by how much. He had red hair and… blue eyes. He had a mullet." She snorted. "I think."

"And the second man?" The officer asked, not looking up from his notepad.

Helga was a little more hesitant this time. "Tall… He was wearing black as well, I think. Height wise he was… somewhere above six foot, with short sandy blonde hair… I would guess that he was in his mid-thirties… And his eyes were two different colors." The officer's head snapped up from his notes.

"You didn't mention this before. Do you remember the colors?" He suddenly seemed a bit jumpy. "Could you tell me them?"

Helga shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "The right one, I mean his right, was a dark blue… and the left was green." She surprised even herself by remembering which was which. Then again, she was also having a hard time keeping the memory of his face out of her head. Maybe it just sunk in with time.

The policeman locked eyes with her and stared her down. "You're sure? One hundred percent sure?"

Helga met his gaze with confidence. "One hundred and ten."

The policeman sighed and reached for a phone on his desk. Lifting the receiver to his ear, he quickly punched in a number and began speaking somewhat urgently into the phone. "Hello Mr. Fitz, sorry to bother you, but… Yes, I know you're busy, but this is important… No, it can't wait, sir." As he talked, the officer looked back up at Helga and her parents. "I've got a girl here who has something you need to hear…. Alright, I'll send them over." After a few muttered apologies the officer hung up the phone and began addressing the family in front of him. "I'm afraid that you'll all have to come with me for a moment to see Sergeant Fitz." The officer started walking to the door and motioned for them to follow.

Helga's father immediately bristled for a fight. "We've been sitting here for _over_ an _hour_! Just what the _hell_ is going on here?" Helga shot an amused look at her father's word usage. _What a hypocrite… _she thought silently.

As the policeman reached the door he turned to answer. "I think it's better if Sergeant Fitz tells you the details, but it appears your daughter has run into a very dangerous man."

Still not convinced, Bob continued to argue. "He's already broken into our house and robbed us blind, what more is he going to do?"

The officer stopped in his motion for them to follow him, and looked back at Big Bob. He tried to look him in the eye, but could only bring his gaze up to his shoulder. He looked to the floor with guilt before speaking. "I'm not allowed to tell you. But Officer Fitz can, so I really think you should follow me and speak to him."

"Fine, let's go see this Fitz guy." Bob mumbled. The officer promptly led them through a maze of cubicles and offices, until finally reaching a sturdy office door with "Sergeant Rodger Fitz" written on it in bold letters. The officer gently knocked before opening the door and motioning for the Pataki family to follow.

"Sir? This is the girl who—" he was cut off by what must have been Sergeant Fitz.

A burly, middle aged man with short curly hair stood before them, his arms crossed. To Helga's surprise, he stood only a few inches taller than herself.

"I can see that. Now what was so important that you had to interrupt my work?" the Sergeant demanded. The youthful officer nervously walked up to the Sergeant's ear and whispered something to him that caused a look of grim understanding to cross the Sergeant's features. Leaning back, he tore a few pages from the notepad he was still carrying and handed them to the Sergeant before heading for the door.

"Sorry again, Sir." The officer muttered before he exited the office and closed the door behind him.

An awkward silence passed in the spacious office before Sergeant Fitz took a breath introduced himself, sticking out his hand to shake each Pataki's hands. "Sergeant Rodger Fitz is the name, and I would be pleased to meet you if I wasn't the bearer of such bad news."

"What's this about bad news?" Bob inquired, not bothering to shake the man's hand.

The Sergeant ignored Bob and turned to Helga. "So," he said, looking at the notes he held, "You say a man with two different color eyes broke into your house?"

"Well, yeah he was one of them and so was the redhead, but what's it matter? I got out and I'm safe now, aren't I?" Sergeant Fitz just looked at her with a frown, and Helga began to feel nervous. "Aren't I?"

Sergeant Fitz gave a heavy sigh and prepared to give a long explanation. "This man with the different colored eyes, he's not _just_ a burglar. His name is Danny Usher. Ten years ago his family admitted him to the state mental institution for exhibiting…_ disturbing _behavior. Two years ago, he was released and declared mentally well. Two months after he was released, his family reported him missing… It appears he ran away. I have been tracking him ever since."

Helga got the feeling that he wasn't finished with his story, and waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she pressed him for more information. "So, what, this guy's just crazy? Why's he so dangerous then?"

"Certain things were discovered after he disappeared that led us to believe he poses a threat to society."

"What _things_?" she asked. There were a lot of holes in his story, and she planned on having them filled in. "Just what sort of _disturbing behavior_ did he get locked up for in the first place?"

The Sergeant pressed his lips into a thin line before answering. "I shouldn't be telling you this, but I feel that it's important for your safety that all of you know. With that in mind, for your own safety and the success of this case, _you do not _tell _anyone _about what you are about to hear. _Do I make myself clear?_" He spoke these last words with authority, making eye contact with each of the Pataki's, and they nodded their heads.

"Danny was first institutionalized because of a threat to his sister. He'd been caught torturing the dog, and some of his friends also confessed to having seen him catch and mutilate some small animals. His sister confronted him about it and he turned on her with a hot poker. As he'd always had some social issues, his family decided that he was not mentally well and admitted him to a mental institution rather than press legal charges." The Pataki's exchanged disturbed looks.

Miriam, who'd been mostly silent the whole time, spoke up with an unusual amount of clarity. "You said that some things were discovered _after_ he disappeared. Officer—I mean Sergeant—Fitz, could you tell us what those things were?"

Sergeant Fitz nodded grimly. "It appears that he has graduated from small animals… and moved on to humans. Since leaving his parents, he's left a body trail. And it seems he's found a follower in this redheaded fellow… " He looked down towards Helga, who was looking more and more horrified. "You're very lucky to be alive, young lady." She looked up at him, wide eyed.

"So why don't you just do your job and catch the creep?" Bob demanded, stepping forward and putting his hand on Helga's shoulder.

"It's easier said than done, Mr. Pataki, but we _are_ trying as hard as we can. He's very smart; before he was institutionalized he was attending Harvard. Being so smart, he's also been very good at hiding. His eyes are one of his most defining features, and unfortunately they can be concealed. He's also very obsessive, which leads us to the bad news." The Sergeant actually looked apologetic now.

Helga snapped out of the stupor she'd been in after hearing that she had been face to face with a serial killer. "Wait, wait, wait, that _wasn't_ the bad news? I just want to go home!" She flung her hands up in the air in desperation.

"You can't go home." Sergeant Fitz said solemnly.

Bob started in first. "Well, of course it's a mess right now and you'll probably need to watch it for a while but after—"

"No, not even then. None of you can go home, or stay in the area for that matter, until Danny Usher is in custody."

There was a pause before all three Pataki's exclaimed, "WHAT?"

The Sergeant made a very good attempt at not flinching. "Should you need anything from your home, we can have one of the officers go and get it for you. It's not safe for any of you to return until the investigation is over. In the meantime, I suggest that Mr. and Mrs. Pataki take an extended vacation. I also suggest that you don't take Helga. Having the three of you together would be too recognizable."

The room exploded into a chaos of questions.

The first came from Mr. Pataki. "I've got a business to run and you expect me to just up and leave it?"

Next was Helga… "Where are we supposed to go? Where am _I_ supposed to go?"

Finally came Miriam, who was a little more calm than the rest. It might've had something to do with the "smoothie" she'd been drinking earlier. "Wait… are you… are you sort of placing us in the witness protection program?"

Sergeant Fitz addressed Miriam first. "You might say that it's _like_ the witness protection program, but not exactly. Because he has not been convicted, Danny is not currently scheduled for a trial, although you may later be asked to testify. But we can try to assist you a little in this process. Unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Pataki, we can't do much to help you other than advise you and watch you while you are in the area. For your business, surely you have some sort of plan in place for emergencies. I'd suggest you carry out that plan and leave the area as soon as possible. When Danny is apprehended, we will contact you." He turned to look directly at Helga. "However, we _can_ do a great deal for Helga. As you're the only one to get away—"

The words echoed in Helga's head. _The only one to get away? Just how many have there been before me?_ Helga shook her head and put her hands up to stop the Sergeant in his speech. "Wait a second, Bucko. I'm the _only_ one to get away? How often has this happened, exactly? If he was stupid enough to leave the door open on our house, how smart can this guy be?"

"It looks like you caught him off guard." The officer addressed the entire family now. "He really may have only been trying to rob you, but since Helga interrupted… He's probably going to obsess over it. By escaping, she made it personal. It is very likely that he will try to find her. This means she needs to be protected, but we will need to find a more long term solution…"

The Patakis sat in stunned silence while the Sergeant thought to himself aloud. "We need to send her out of the area. Maybe a camp or summer school of some kind? But there's always the chance that she will be recognized, so she should probably be disguised…" He turned to Helga again. "Young lady, do you have any sort of outstanding skills or talents? Music? Sports?"

"Uuhh…" Helga started as she began to comb through her dazed mind. "I'm alright at sports, and school is pretty easy, but I don't know if I would call it a talent… I guess I'm a not bad poet…" Upon realizing what she'd said, she immediately slapped a hand to her forehead. "Forget that last one! It's nothing!"

The Sergeant smiled and stroked his chin. "Poetry, huh? Well let's see what we can find…" He walked around his desk to sit in his chair, and began typing on his computer.

"What are you doing?" Helga asked, terrified at the thought of actually having to display her poetry for someone. "I said to forget the poetry thing!"

From behind her Miriam spoke up in that sleepy voice of hers. "Why Helga, I never knew you wrote poetry! When did you start that?"

"I dunno Miriam, maybe when I was six…" Helga mumbled to herself and crossed her arms again.

"What Helga?" Miriam inquired, "I didn't quite catch that."

She was saved from having to answer as Sergeant Fitz had found whatever he was looking for. "Well, it looks like most camps would be too short. Some summer schools are still accepting applicants though, and it looks like a few are even still offering scholarships. Assuming you don't want to go broke over this whole fiasco, I'm guessing you'll want one of those… Helga, are you well known for your writing?"

Helga balked at the question. "Of course not!" Despite beginning at an early age, her poetry writing had long been a well-kept secret and she intended to keep it that way.

"Then a summer school specializing in writing isn't out of the question… Maybe we should go for something a little more general anyway, to be on the safe side…" Sergeant Fitz continued his search, almost seeming to talk to himself. "But let's start at scholarships. That'll narrow it down for us… It seems we have a winner." He flipped the screen around so that they could see.

On the screen was the homepage of a somewhat prestigious looking summer school that appeared to be several states away. It would take at least half a day of driving to get there. The Sergeant leaned over the screen and tapped the school name that ran across the top of the site. "Wilson Hill Academy, here, appears to be the only school that is still accepting both admissions and scholarships, and fits Helga's age range. And it's intended to prepare students for college, so no loss there. You want to go to college, right Helga?" Helga continued to scrutinize the website.

After a moment, she spoke up. "You honestly want me to spend my summer _studying_?"

Sergeant Fitz's face fell. "I think you'll go if you care about your safety." He said softly. Helga frowned more. After a moment he brightened up and added, "And Hey, look! They're looking for applicants for a poetry scholarship!" Helga groaned and rolled her eyes. This was quickly becoming a very bad day.

"I _guess_ I could…" she drifted off and leaned towards the computer as something caught her attention. "Hey… Is this… an all-boys school?" She reared back, nearly running into her parents who'd come to scrutinize the school as well.

Sergeant Fitz's face blanked and he turned the computer back towards himself. After a few minutes of examination a frown appeared on his face. "Hm, so it is…" he muttered.

"Well that's not going to work. What do we do now?" Bob questioned from behind Helga.

Sergeant Fitz's face grew pensive and he looked at Helga, and then back towards his computer. A minute later his eyes widened and he looked quickly back and forth from Helga to the computer screen. After some oscillation between the two his eyes settled on Helga and a sly smile slowly spread across his lips.

Helga squirmed under his gaze. "What?" she barked out.

"Actually," Sergeant Fitz began in an amused tone, "I think I just solved _two_ of our problems."


	3. That's not my Name

**A/N:**

:-D You guys are so sweet! Thanks everybody who reviewed! Heh, most of you seem to have figured out where this is going, too... Poor Helga is going to have a rough couple of days. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. :-)

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own Hey Arnold!

**Chapter 3: **

**That's not my Name**

This was by _far_ the _stupidest_ thing she had _EVER_ done. And that included _a lot_ of stupid things. I mean, she had once gotten her hair done at a _dog grooming shop_ for crying out loud! _I don't want to get killed by some psychopath but this is just ridiculous,_ she thought as she stared out the car window towards Wilson Hill Academy. The building (or set of buildings, really) was nestled in a perky little forested area just beyond a long, green lawn.

When the Sergeant first had suggested that she could solve both being sent out of the area and being disguised by attending Wilson Hill Academy _as a boy_, she had flat out refused, as had Big Bob. After almost an hour of arguing, it was Miriam who had suggested that she actually go through with it. When they stopped their fighting to look at her like she was crazy, she calmly explained that she would rather be separated from a cross-dressing daughter for the summer than have a dead one. That had shut up their bickering, and they'd reluctantly agreed.

The next few nights were spent in a hotel under constant watch by the local police as they all prepared for their upcoming trips. The first order of business was to apply to Wilson Hill with a fake name, for which several pieces of identification were "acquired" by the police department. She was admitted surprisingly fast despite the late application, and Helga suspected that Sergeant Fitz may have given their admissions office a little nudge.

The scholarship application was a little more tricky. In order to apply Helga had to have a poem (preferably a very good one) and all of her poems were back at her house in one of her many little pink books. She discreetly asked an officer to go get her current book. Ever since losing one of her poetry books in the fourth grade and almost having her secret revealed in front of the entire school, she'd kept an extremely sharp eye on where her books were and always kept them in the same places. This was why when the officer came back saying that he couldn't find anything, she knew that she hadn't lost it. Her poetry book had been _taken_.

This disturbed her greatly, but already being embarrassed about her poetry, she didn't say tell anyone. Without the book to rely on, she whipped out a new poem on the spot, pouring all of her emotions of the past few days into it. Helga's poem was entered on the final day open for entries, and to her surprise was also processed surprisingly fast, the results coming in just a few days. It was only after getting the news that her poem had won them a near full-ride scholarship that Helga realized her poem sounded somewhat different if authored by a _male_ perspective.

The final preparation took the least amount of time, but was _by far_ the weirdest.

Helga recalled the events with a bit of mortification…

A day before she was scheduled to leave, Sergeant Fitz had assigned someone to "transform" her, so to speak. To her horror, it was the same secretary she'd met in the police office days before. She'd wanted to chop her hair off entirely so as not to have to deal with the hassle of a wig, but Helga had refused. She was already stepping about a mile out of her comfort zone; the thought of losing almost all of her hair made her feel ten times more vulnerable. Eventually, she'd agreed to a cut just above shoulder length so that she could more easily fit her hair in a wig.

Because her eyebrows were naturally dark, a brown wig was chosen and the stylist showed her how to wear it properly. Much to her embarrassment, the stylist had then begun to strip her of her clothes.

"What are you doing?" Helga cried out, pushing the woman's hands away.

The stylist let out an irritated sigh and placed her hands on her hips. "Honey, you've got to cover that" she gestured to Helga's chest and hips, "up, or this won't work."

Helga could feel her face begin to heat up. "I _know _that, but… couldn't I just do it myself?" The stylist raised her eyebrows and handed her a long piece of fabric for Helga to wrap around herself. Helga motioned with her hand, and the stylist rolled her eyes and turned around.

Once she felt she had done an adequate job in eliminating her curves, Helga tapped the stylist's shoulder to get her approval. She didn't look thrilled, but she mumbled that it would pass.

"Next," the irritable woman said, grabbing a white t-shirt, "We add layers. I'm assuming I don't have to tell you that you won't want anyone to see you without a shirt?" Helga shot her a glare but remained silent as she pulled on the shirt. The stylist handed her a pair of slightly baggy jeans and when she'd gotten them halfway on, the stylist spoke up again. "I won't make you wear them now, but you'll want to switch to boxers or something as well. If you have a roommate, you'll need to be believable down to your underwear." The outfit was finished with a brown polo, and the woman scrutinized her work, circling Helga to view her from all sides.

"Hmm…" she hummed, "One more thing, I think." With that she made Helga strip all the way down again, and sprayed something all over Helga's body and face. "Good!" the woman shouted and Helga coughed in the fumes, "Now you'll have a slightly different skin tone and be harder to recognize."

"That was _spray tan?" _Helga coughed out as she reached for her new clothes.

"Yup! Now put that down; you need to let it sink for ten minutes or so before you can get dressed again." Feeling more and more humiliated, Helga sat down in her underwear to wait it out. Once that was done they dressed Helga again (who was frustrated enough that she allowed her to help) and the woman checked to make sure the wig was secure. "And now for the cherry on top." The woman left to get something from her purse, and as she did Helga walked over to a full length mirror to examine herself.

To her surprise, and mild disappointment, she wasn't half bad as a guy. She'd never been dripping with femininity, but she felt a little disappointed that what little she had was stripped away from her so easily. Years of playing with the guys and jumping rope outside of Arnold's house for hours on end had molded Helga's figure into an athletic physique. Her arms were thin but wrapped in a wiry muscle. Her overall figure, which had previously resembled a younger version of her mother's, was now masked by the wrap and layers of clothing piled on top. From head to toe she knew she measured in at five and a half feet, which was somewhat short for a seventeen year old guy, but not unheard of. Her eyes drifted up from the baggy jeans, past the brown shirt that hid her gentle curves, and up to her face. Her jawline was a bit weak as a male, but the shaggy brown hair that fell around into her face and her naturally strong eyebrow helped to distract from that. _Overall… not bad,_ she thought to herself. _Maybe a little like the Bieber, but not bad._

She was startled out of her thoughts whenthe stylist came back, carrying something small in her hand that looked like a retainer. "This," the woman passed the small device to Helga's open hand, "Is very expensive, so be careful with it. You wear it in your mouth, and it'll take care of your voice for you. It sends out some kind of frequency that alters the sounds coming out of your mouth to make them lower. I'm a little lost on the physics of it, but it works. Try it out." Helga looked at her skeptically, but popped the device into her mouth, where it attached snugly to her back teeth. The woman watched her expectantly.

"I don't see how—" Helga stopped herself off in surprise. The voice that came out of her mouth was not her own. Well, it _sort of_ sounded like her, but it was warped a little and several octaves lower. What shocked her the most, though, was that it was actually pretty believable. "This thing's not half bad." She watched her mouth in the mirror as the unfamiliar voice came out.

"Of course it is, it's expensive." The woman remarked. "Now, you should practice sleeping in that wig tonight. And you might want to check and see if you can call anyone before you leave. Once you go, to keep your cover you shouldn't contact anyone in this area unless it's emergency."

Helga had only one person to call. Later that day, from the police station (for the extra security), she took out the retainer and dialed Phoebe's number.

"Heyerdahl Residence, Phoebe speaking." Phoebe's high pitched voice sounded on the other line.

"Hey Pheebs."

"Helga!" Phoebe shouted, but still managed to sound soft in the way that only Phoebe could. "Where have you been? Despite all attempts I have made, you have been completely unreachable for almost an entire week!"

"I know, Pheebs," Helga began tiredly, "and I'm sorry, but I wanted to let you know that I'll be gone for a while longer."

Phoebe's voice sounded hesitant on the other line. "Helga… is something wrong? Has something happened?"

Helga thought for a moment, unsure of how much she could say. Phoebe _was_ her best friend, but if she knew something, would it somehow put her in danger as well? "I think the short answer is yes. I'm really not sure how much I can tell you, but the abridged version is that I managed to get the attention of a psychopath and now I kinda need to be unavailable for a while."

"Oh Helga, that's terrible! How long will you need to remain so?"

Helga thought to herself for a moment. "I… really don't know."

Phoebe didn't respond, so Helga continued solemnly. "You've been a really great friend, Phoebe, and I wanted you to know that. "

"Helga… are you going to be alright?"

"I hope so."

After a minute Phoebe timidly replied. "You've been a good friend too, Helga. I hope all of this turns out ok."

"Hey, I'll probably be back sometime," Helga added a bit of brightness to her voice. "so don't count me out just yet. I just wanted to let you know before I left. And.. in case I don't see you before it's over.. Have a nice summer."

"You too, Helga."

"Bye, Pheebs." She hung up the phone and sat for a minute as the seriousness of the situation sunk in. _I guess there really _is_ a chance that I might not come back from this…_ That night she went to bed, wig and all, feeling more unsure about this whole thing than she had since the beginning.

* * *

The next morning, after saying goodbye to her parents (who were about to set out on their own "vacation"), an officer drove them for several long hours until they arrived at Wilson Hill Academy in midafternoon, which she now stared at through the car window. Having come full circle in her reminiscing, she took a deep breath and opened the car door.

Her bags had been packed with some clothes and supplies donated to her by the police department. When she had asked Sergeant Fitz why they were able to provide so much for her and so little for her parents, he had guiltily replied that they intended to keep a close watch on her knowing that Danny Usher would seek her out. Through her, they might have an easier time at finding him. All in all it didn't give her much confidence and made her sound a lot more like bait than a witness in protection. Still, he'd also given her his number to call in the event of an emergency.

The officer who'd driven her there helped her get her bags out of the car and onto the driveway. Beyond that, she was one her own. As she walked up to the tall building, bags in hand, she did begin to feel more and more alone. Here she was, in _drag, _trying to enter _summer school_ with a false name.

She shook her head to try and dispel her disparaging thoughts, and steeled her nerves. This was no different than all of the other times she had walked to school alone. If she had to do this, she would do this right dammit! She glared at the approaching doors as if they had challenged her. Move over boys, here comes Helga G. Pataki!

By the time she reached the door she'd worked herself up into wall of confidence. Once inside, he resolve weakened a little bit. It all looked very... regal and clean. With a moderate amount of confidence still remaining, she marched up to the front desk. The female secretary looked up.

"Can I help you?" she said in a grandmotherly voice.

Helga cleared her throat, buying time while she double checked with her tongue that the retainer was in place. "Hi, I'm here to sign in for classes." It still surprised her a little when her voice came out low.

The secretary shook her head and frowned at Helga. "Oh, the faculty won't like that. You missed the first day, and that's usually orientation."

Nerves bunched up inside her, but Helga steadily ignored them. So she was one day late. Big deal. It was just a minor setback, right? "I'll live." She said, shrugging her shoulders at the secretary.

"Alright then… Could I get your name please?" She smiled cheerily at Helga.

"Oh, uh, right.." Helga shuffled on her feet as she tried to remember the name she was listed under. _Brilliant Helga,_ she scolded herself, _Forgetting your name, that's not suspicious at all… _Now she had to find some way to check what her name was supposed to be without seeming out of the ordinary… _I've got it!_

Helga put her bags down and fished in her pocket. Among the falsified records the station had given her was a license. She grabbed it from her pocket and, glancing at it (and taking note of the name) as she lifted it up, asked "Do you need my ID?"

"No, Dear, just your name."

Smiling at her cleverness, she answered. "Henrik Patterson." _Wait, __Henrik Patterson?_ She thought as she heard the name aloud. _'Helga Pataki'… 'Henrik Patterson… Yeah, those don't sound similar at all, _she sarcastically joked inside her head. _Very funny, Sergeant Fitz. _

"It looks like you're in room 214, dear. I'll get someone down to show you to your room."

Several minutes later, a tall and lanky older man came walking down a hallway that branched out to the right. As predicted, he did not look happy.

"I am professor Volker, and _you, _Mr. Patterson are late." He spoke in a hoarse voice as he towered above her, his balding head sitting almost a foot taller than hers. It didn't help that he sat up so straight you'd think someone shoved a stick up his—"Well?" he interrupted her thought, "I think an apology is in order." _Crimeny, _Helga thought, _I hope they're not all like this guy…_

"I'm… Sorry?"

He sniffed, offended by her weak apology. "I _suppose _that will have to do. Now we'd best be on our way before _another_ day is wasted." He didn't bother to help her with her luggage before he started off down the way he had come.

They walked through empty corridors until they got to a set of doors that connected this building to the next. A sign had been taped to the wall next to the doors that said, "Dormitories this way". As they entered the new building and climbed the stairs, Helga began to get her first glimpses of her peers. Most of the doors were closed but occasionally they ran into a teenage boy that was hanging around in the hallways. As soon as they caught sight of Professor Volker, the scurried back into their rooms.

Finally, they arrived at 214. Mr. Volker tried the knob and finding it to be unlocked, pushed the door open. "It seems your roommate managed to be on time." He said, looking into the room. Helga stepped into the doorway and caught a glimpse of a male figure bent so far over an open suitcase that his head was obscured. He seemed to be searching for something. She stepped further into the room, but Mr. Volker caught her shoulder.

"I have business to attend to now, but I'll be back later to give you your schedule. Everyone _els_e signed up for classes yesterday, so you'll be left with whatever is still open. I trust that you and your roommate can manage to introduce yourselves?" He obviously didn't expect her to answer the question, because he left the room as soon as he finished talking, closing the door behind him.

Turning her back to the door, Helga examined the room. It looked fairly standard for a dorm room; there was a closet directly to her left, and a door that must lead to the bathroom on her right. Farther into the room sat two single beds that faced out from the right wall, with a dresser crammed in between. On the opposite wall sat two desks, which were mostly empty.

Her roommate continued to dig through his bag, whose contents were now mostly strewn about his bed. Helga walked toward the empty bed, looking forward to dumping off the heavy weight of her luggage. Courtesy could wait, especially since he hadn't even bothered to look at her yet.

However, as she started off her roommate straightened up and a head emerged from behind the suitcase.

A football shaped head.

Helga's bags slipped out of her grasp with a thump and her jaw nearly hit the floor.

"_A-Arnold?"_


	4. When it Rains, it Pours

**A/N:**

I'm glad if you guys have liked it so far! Thanks again to everybody who's reviewed. I think this chapter should start getting into some fun stuff, although there should be a lot more later... I'm interested in seeing how you guys react!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold.

**Chapter 4 :**

**When it Rains, it Pours **

Arnold looked up, a confused expression crossing his face. "Have we met before?" he asked slowly as he stood up and walked toward Helga.

"Ah—err—" she stammered out in shock as Arnold came closer her and she began to panic. "_No!"_ she shouted before realizing she probably sounded crazy. "I—I mean, no, of course not, I'm not from here!" _Stupid! He's not from here either!_

"I'm not either, actually," Arnold said distractedly as he stepped around the bed to get a good look at her. "Sorry about earlier, I would've introduced myself but I was looking for something... although, you already seem to know my name, so…"

Helga quickly tried to think up an excuse. "Volker told me!"

Arnold began to give her a slightly suspicious look. "Is that why he said that we should introduce ourselves?" The ONE time she needed Arnold to be his oblivious self he decides to be all observant. Figures.

"Um. He meant I should introduce _myself_ but he'd mentioned _your_ name earlier." Arnold raised an eyebrow. _Quick, do something!_ Helga thrust out her hand. "I'm Henrik Patterson." Arnold eyed her hand suspiciously, but cautiously took it.

"Nice to meet you…" He drifted off, and squinted down at her, his height being superior to hers by only a couple inches. He'd always been pretty short for a guy. "Are you sure we haven't met before? I feel like I've heard that name before, and you look _really _familiar…"

"Uuuh.." Helga frantically tried to think up something to distract him, glancing around to look at anything but him. _ Say something to distract him!_ She thought frantically to herself. Arnold leaned closer, to the point where she couldn't avoid his eyes any longer. She tried to think of anything, ANYTHING that she could do to get him to stop scrutinizing her, but her mind had gone blank. "I—You—um..." _Just say anything! The first thing that pops into your head!_ "You have really beautiful eyes."

She cringed and cursed herself the moment it was out of her mouth.

Arnold leaned back just a little _too_ fast.

"Ah," He said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away uncomfortably, "Thanks, I guess…"

_Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!_

"I havetogotothebathroom." Not bothering to see if he'd caught her mumbled excuse, she whipped around and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Arnold was left standing alone and very confused in the middle of the room.

Helga found herself plastered against the wall of the small bathroom, her heart beating a mile a minute. _Stupid!_ She cursed herself again. Why had they _ever _thought this was going to work? She'd just started and already the façade was crumbling before her eyes. _And what the heck is Arnold doing here anyway?_

She sunk down the wall, putting her head in her hands and closing her eyes. _Arnold._ He was here, at the one time in her life when she _didn't_ want to see him. Apparently she hadn't listened close enough when she'd thought Gerald had said Arnold was going to a _camp_ for the summer. This was definitely not camp; this was summer school. But what were the chances that they'd actually end up _at the same one? _Beyond sharing a room with Danny Usher himself, this was just about the worst luck she could have.

_Then again…_ It was actually _Arnold _sitting in the other room. _Arnold,_ not some other random person who knew her. _Arnold_, the love of her life! If he didn't find out who she really was and throw her out, then she'd be spending the _entire summer _sharing a room with him. Her heart beat a little faster, if that was possible at this point. She _had_ always wanted to spend more time with him… she just hadn't expected to be pretending to be somebody else when she did it.

_I couldn't actually tell him, could I?_ She pondered this thought for a minute before dismissing it. Arnold had always been generous, forgiving, and in general the most accepting and good hearted person she'd ever known. In middle school when the boys had tried to stop letting her join in their games, he had been the _only_ one to stand up for her. When she thought back through the years, her golden hearted angel had been there for her more than she'd ever realized: When someone poured punch on her at the first high school dance, he sat with her. When Big Patty had wanted to beat her up, Arnold had been the one to talk her out of it. When he'd held out an umbrella for her in his tiny hand on the first day of preschool…

She fought the urge to swoon as she remembered all of the times Arnold had saved her neck. But he couldn't save her from this. This really was a matter of life and death. And if she DID tell him, she was sure he'd blow her cover. Arnold was too much of a gentleman to knowingly share a room with a girl and lie about it for a whole summer. She couldn't let him find out.

With a deep breath, she opened her eyes and stood up. Bracing her hands against the sink, she looked forward at her reflection in the mirror. A brown haired boy stared back at her. A boy with her face. Henrik Patterson.

No, the disguise wasn't perfect. Yes, Arnold had recognized her. So be it. He would just have to live with his suspicion; she'd deny it up one side and down the other if he asked her. Let _him_ be the crazy one.

With newfound confidence, she opened the door and left the tiny bathroom. Casually strutting over to her bed and sitting down, she addressed Arnold.

"So," she said, "What made you decide to spend your summer _here_, of all places?" Better to keep the focus on him.

Arnold had moved back to his bed and was stuffing the clothes and other items he'd strewn about earlier back into his bag. "Well," he began, not bothering to turn towards her but instead choosing to focus on his packing, "I was kind of thinking of becoming a Doctor, and I figured that to get into medical school I'd need to be ahead of the game on education. Plus my friend Gerald was already going, so… What about you?"

_Oh great,_ Helga groaned to herself, _Gerald's here too? Who's next, Stinky?_ She kept these feelings to herself when she answered. "Oh, you know, the usual; just preparing for college and all of that good ol' stuff. So," she said, turning the focus back on him, "Did you find what you were looking for earlier?"

Arnold continued to avoid her eyes as he moved his bag over to the closet. "No, I didn't."

Helga frowned as she watched, following him with her eyes. She got the feeling that he wanted to avoid the topic. Or he just thought she was crazy. Maybe she'd weirded him out a little _too_ much? _As if that'll stop me… _ "So what was it?"

"What was what?" he casually replied with his back still turned to her, though he appeared to be done at the closet.

She eyed him suspiciously. He was definitelyplaying dumb. "The thing you were looking for when I came in."

"Oh, uh, that. It was just… something that I forgot to bring." Helga stared at him curiously, silently questioning him. _What are you hiding, Arnold?_ Just as she opened her mouth to press the issue, their door opened and Mr. Volker walked in. He hadn't bothered to knock.

"It seems that we will be seeing a lot of each other, Mr. Patterson," the older man spoke as he handed Helga a piece of paper. "This is your schedule. Don't lose it, and don't be late." He turned to leave.

"Hey!" Helga called after him. "Don't I get any choice in my own classes?"

Mr. Volker popped his wrinkly balding head back into the room. "As I said before, _that_ is a privilege of those who arrive on time. And young man, you will address me as 'Mr. Volker' or 'Professor Volker'. If you have any more questions, go ask someone else." With that, he disappeared back into the hallway.

Helga looked down at the paper in her hands with dread. Hesitantly, she examined listed classes that had apparently been less popular with her peers. Arnold watched with mild interest from the other side of the room.

_Period 1: Performance Poetry Instructor: James Volker_

_Period 2: Introduction to Creative Writing Instructor: James Volker_

_Period 3: Trigonometry Instructor: Matthew Manning_

_Period 4: AP Biology Instructor: Henry Burn_

_Period 5: History of Poetry Instructor: James Volker_

Helga groaned and flopped back against her bed, throwing her arm over her eyes. _Performance Poetry? With Volker?_ _Really?_ Some sort of higher power was out to humiliate her, she was sure of it. How else could someone be so unlucky?

The bed sank down next to her and she realized that Arnold must have sat down. "It can't be _that_ bad." She heard his voice and moved her arm slightly to peak up at him. He seemed to have forgotten about her strange behavior earlier. He never had been able to resist solving everyone else's problems…

"Did _you_ get to pick your classes?" she asked and handed him her schedule.

"Yeah, but…" He examined the paper carefully, "you only have five classes. I've got six. That's something."

She snorted. "Right, three poetry classes, a math class that I've already taken, and advanced placement biology? The last time I took a biology class was freshman year. Yeah, this summer is starting out just _great_."

She peaked at him again and saw him studying her schedule, a troubled look on his face. "Well, it looks like we're in the same biology class. Maybe I could help you?" He looked over to her for a response. She melted a little inside when she caught the concern gleaming in his green eyes. _There he goes again,_ she thought, _always trying to solve someone else's problem. _

She pushed herself up with both hands so she could sit next to him. "_Fine,_ if it'll ease your conscience, Foo—uh, foo…fool." Her heart was beating about ten times too fast again. _That was close… I almost called him "Football head"!_ Arnold looked at her like she'd grown a second head. He must've noticed her stumble. _Quick, think of an excuse!_ "S-so-so I have a stutter. You going to make fun of me for it now?" _Brilliant_! He wouldn't question something like that, would he?

"Did you just call me a fool?"

Oh. So that was his problem. Well, that one was easy enough to explain. "Well _yeah_, anyone stupid enough to offer to tutor someone they just met qualifies as a fool." The excuse came out easily, having used similar ones many times before.

"Right," he said, sounding mildly irritated, "well, if you ever decide you want my help, you know where to find me." He stood up and walked over to one of his desks.

Helga winced a little. Did she _have_ to be so mean to him, even when she was pretending to be someone else? Not sure how else to spend her evening, Helga left the room to figure out where all of her classes were and wander the halls until dinner time.

* * *

She was standing in a field of flowers. Bright yellow blossoms tickled her calves. The sun shone bright above her and she closed her eyes, feeling the warmth on her skin.

"Helga?"

Arnold's smooth voice came from behind her, and she turned to find him standing behind her. A great and powerful emotion swelled up insider her, and she ran towards him. "Arnold, my love…" She trailed off upon reaching him and entering his embrace. His strong arms encircled her and she reveled in the feel of them. She was finally content, finally in the place she'd wanted to be for almost her entire life…

A searing pain suddenly ran through her abdomen. Pushing herself back, she looked up into Arnold's face, only to find that he was not there anymore. Instead, Danny Usher grinned back at her with his moldy green and blue eyes. The arms around her suddenly felt like shackles, chaining her to this man and pulling her closer. Around them the flowers wilted and the sky darkened. The pain came again, sharper this time. In horror she looked down and found a knife sticking out of her, Danny's hand attached to it. She screamed.

Helga jolted awake, breathing heavily in the darkness. Her skin was slick with sweat. _What a nightmare… _She flopped down against her pillow and took a second just to take stock of where she was. The dorm room was silent with the exception of her own breathing, and Arnold's light snoring from the other side of the room. When she turned her head, she could just make out the lump of his form on his bed. She took a deep breath to calm herself, only to panic as the pain in her abdomen returned.

Frantically she shoved herself out of bed, but ended up falling to the floor as her legs tangled themselves in the sheets. The sheets were hastily ripped off before she ran to the bathroom, shutting the door and turning on the light. Once inside, she pulled at the waistline of the boxer shorts she was wearing and examined herself. The skin was smooth and unmarred. She sighed in relief, but soon realized how full her bladder was and made her way to the toilet.

The sight of her blood had her panicking again for a couple seconds before she realized what was going on. Cautiously she made her way out of the bathroom and fumbled for her bag in the darkness. After several minutes of nervous searching, she found some "supplies" (carefully hidden at the very bottom of her bag, of course) and returned to the bathroom. As she went about her business, she came to the realization that she was probably the only one in the entire building right now who actually _had_ a "time of the month". Suddenly she felt very out of place; a single woman adrift in a sea of men. While washing her hands, she watched herself in the mirror. The brown wig was still in place (if a bit messy), and her baggy t-shirt and boxers did a good enough job at masking her figure… but it was just a façade. Even her body seemed to be revolting against it. She didn't belong here. She was an outsider, and anyone with eyes and a brain could figure it out.

With one last glance at herself she flipped the light off and returned to bed. Eventually she fell into a troubled sleep.


	5. Rocks are for Crawling Under

**A/N:**

Annnnd now… Helga's first day of classes as a boy are officially started! How will she fare? Read on to find out!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Hey Arnold or it's characters.

**Chapter 5 :**

**Rocks are for Crawling Under**

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

"Uuuuuuggh…" Helga moaned as her alarm went off. Between the nightmare and everything else, she hadn't slept well. And that was putting it lightly. She punched her alarm several times until it shut up. It might've broken in the act, but she really didn't care. Groggily she stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom.

She was looking forward to a nice, long shower, until she found Arnold standing in front of the mirror, already dressed, combing his hair into place and blow drying his blue cap. _Just Great, _she groaned internally. It would be too dangerous to take a shower with Arnold here. She'd have to find some other time to-_wait a second, _her thoughts came to a halt and she backtracked, _Arnold blow dries his HAT?_ She stared at him curiously until he finally noticed her.

"I'm almost done if you need the bathroom." He said, as courteous as ever. He must've mistaken her look for one of impatience.

Helga stared with fascination as he finished drying the ridiculously undersized hat, shook it a little, and placed it on his head. With that, he gathered up his things and left the bathroom. She distractedly shut the door behind him, a million questions now forming in her mind. _Does he shower with it too? Has he always done that? _After years of stalking him and breaking into the boarding house, you'd think she would've noticed. She shook her head and tried to focus on the current problem.

Arnold probably wouldn't come in while she was in the shower, but there was always a chance. She desperately wanted to wash off the sweat and grime that had accumulated after her nightmare, but a full blown shower was too big of a risk. Eventually she settled for giving her hair a quick rinse under the faucet (she threw the wig in too, for good measure) and an improvised sponge bath for the rest of her body. After tucking her hair safely into the wig again, she got dressed into a pair of blue jeans and a striped green polo. She wore a standard white t-shirt underneath for extra security.

After finishing her other (less dangerous) morning routines, she reluctantly left the bathroom and headed toward the cafeteria for breakfast. She noticed that Arnold had already left; he didn't seem to like "Henrik" much. _So much for getting to know Arnold a little better,_ she thought with a frown.

The Cafeteria was large and filled with students who'd gotten there before her. They sat in clumps and chatted as they ate. Apparently the cliques had already begun to form. _Great, _she thought sarcastically, _just like high school back home. _Except Phoebe wasn't here to keep her company. After loading up a plate with waffles and bacon from the buffet style breakfast, she began to turn around and look for a seat.

"Oof!"

Plates and food flew everywhere. Helga found herself flat on her back, tangled up with none other than Arnold himself in a big, sticky, syrupy mess. He was laying on top of her and struggling a great deal to get up. "Get OFF of me you _doofus!_!" she shouted. She shoved at him, panicking a little, but couldn't quite untangle herself.

Arnold was having just as much trouble as she was. He tried to push himself up, only to have Helga shove at him and slip in the syrup, making him fall on top of her again. With a great shove, it was Helga who finally threw Arnold off. He tumbled backwards, landing hard on his rear. Finally disentangled, the pair began to stand and dust themselves off. Arnold started to apologize. "Henrik, I didn't see you there, I'm—"

Helga cut him off as her temper got the better of her. "Bingo, Captain Obvious, you didn't see me. Well you know what that means? It MEANS," her voice rose to ear-piercing volume now, "that you should have WATCHED WHERE YOU WERE GOING, FOO—" she caught herself in mid word again, losing half of her steam in the process, "-I mean, f-_fool!" _Only at the end of her tirade did she notice that they'd attracted the attention of the entire cafeteria. Correction: _She'd_ attracted the attention of the entire cafeteria by letting her stupid mouth run again.

Finally she met Arnold's irritated, half-lidded gaze. "—_sorry._" He finished his earlier statement in a cynical tone.

Feeling many eyes follow her, she stiffly waved her arm as she walked back to the buffet, mumbling, "J-just… don't do it again." Grabbing a slice of toast and a handful of bacon, she stomped off to an empty corner table. She'd already made such a mess out of this day that she didn't see much point with manners. Or silverware.

Arnold was left standing in the middle of the mayhem they'd made. Toast and bacon were strewn about, most of his leftover eggs sat somewhere to his right (the rest he was pretty sure were in his hair) and _everything _was coated in syrup. Slowly he bent down and began to gather the scattered pieces of food from the floor. _Somebody _had to do it. He reached for a trey, and was slightly relieved to find Gerald's well-muscled arm holding it out for him.

"_Man,_" he whispered, leaning in close, "who was _that?_"

Arnold heaved a weary sigh as he tossed a waffle onto the trey. "_That,_ Gerald, was my roommate."

"I am _so sorry_, man." He said, looking over his shoulder to where the person in question sat alone, biting off a piece of his toast rather viciously and giving a murderous glare to anyone who got within five feet. "So what's his story?"

Arnold sighed again. "I don't know. He got here late yesterday, and we… haven't gotten along very well. His name is Henrik Patterson. He's a little… strange."

Gerald eyed "Henrik" as he stiffly stood, snagging a glass of orange juice as he left. Gerald shook his head in sympathy. "I feel for you, Arnold, I feel for you. But hey," Gerald turned back to Arnold and nudged him with his elbow, "did that little outburst remind you of anyone we know?"

Arnold paused in the middle of his cleanup to look at Gerald. "Actually, that's the weirdest part. Gerald, this might sound a little crazy but…" he leaned toward his friend before saying in almost a whisper, "…this guy looks and acts… well, _really_ familiar, but I just can't put a finger on it… I just have the strongest feeling that I _know_ him from somewhere…" Gerald made a good effort at keeping a straight face before bursting out laughing.

"Bwahahahaha!" He doubled over, clutching his stomach. Just barely did he manage to not fall in the syrupy mess. Arnold could only stare at his friend, perplexed. "You have NO idea?" Gerald finally asked when he had regained some composure. "The name '_Henrik Patterson'_ doesn't sound a little familiar? Or that outburst just now? These aren't bringing _anyone_ we know to your mind?" Arnold shook his head while Gerald began to chuckle again. " Arnold my man, _how _can you not see that? I was halfway across the room and I still saw it!"

"Gerald, just tell me already." Impatience leaked into Arnold's voice. He was getting tired of being laughed at.

Gerald shook his head, still laughing to himself. "I've always known you could be a little slow on the uptake, but you must be BLIND not to see this one…"

"_Gerald!"_

The individual in question put up his hands in defense. "Alright, alright, if you really can't see it, the kid's a spitting image of _Helga Pataki_. Or what she'd look like as a guy. Not that there's much difference…" He began to chuckle as Arnold took in this information. He compared his memory of Helga to Henrik. They really _did_ look just like each other. And their tempers were spot on too, he noted, surveying the evidence around him. _Of course,_ he thought, _why didn't I see it before?_

Gerald exploded into laughter again, taking Arnold out of his thoughts. "Of all—_snicker _-the people you—_chuckle—_could've gotten stuck with to spend the ent-en-ENTIRE—_giggle_—summer with, you get stuck with someone who not only ACTS—_snickersnicker_—like the biggest bully you've ever known but LOOKS—_giggle_—like her too?"

Arnold glared down at the hash brown he was scooping up.

"It's not funny, Gerald," he said through clenched teeth.

"Heck yes it is!" Gerald burst into another fit of laughter. Several minutes later he'd finally calmed down enough to speak. "But seriously, do you see it now?"

"Yeah, it makes a lot of sense actually..." Arnold answered reluctantly before continuing, almost to himself. "I don't understand how I didn't see it, though. I just…couldn't figure it out. But now that you point it out I don't know how I missed it." Arnold finished picking up everything he could, dumped the treys in the trash, and started walking toward the exit with Gerald. "I know he's got brown hair and well," he continued, "he's a _he_ and everything, but you're right, his face is _just _like Helga's. I don't mean _similar,_ I mean _exactly._ That same brow, same blue eyes, that strong jawline.. he's even got the little crease that forms on the bridge of her nose when she frowns!" He finished, excited at his revelation.

Gerald gave him a concerned look. "For both our sakes, I'm not going to ask how you know Helga's face in _that_ much detail. But you might want to seek professional help."

Arnold frowned and began to feel slightly uncomfortable. He had thought everyone noticed those things. She certainly was yelling in everyone's faces often enough to give them a close enough look. "Gerald, we've known her for years! Of course I'm… familiar with her face. Are you saying you aren't?"

Gerald put up his hands in defense again. "Hey, man, being familiar is one thing but the detail _you_ went into is way beyond familiar." Arnold looked away, embarrassed. He hadn't ever actually realized that he knew this much about Helga before. It was never something he'd consciously taken note of, and yet at some point the details must have just… sunken in.

Raising his eyebrows at Arnold's lack of response, Gerald shook his head. "Ok, now you're weirding _me_ out."

"Oh…There's one more thing," Arnold reluctantly added as a memory surfaced. "I think he told me that I had beautiful eyes. _That_ was pretty weird." Arnold quietly admitted.

"Right," Gerald began with a serious look on his face, "now did this happen before or after you complimented his _'strong jawline'_?"

"Gerald!" he reprimanded, giving his friend a glare.

Gerald chuckled and smiled. "Sorry, couldn't resist. But seriously…" he said, shrugging his shoulders, "…maybe he just floats that way, if you know what I'm saying."

"Uh…" Arnold looked at his friend, perplexed. "What _are_ you saying, Gerald?"

"You know," he put out his hand and counted on each of his fingers as he listed off phrases, "plays ball for the same team, flies the rainbow flag, he's good friends with Dorthy…"

"I'm not following you…" Arnold said, oblivious.

"C'mon, you know," Gerald looked at him expectantly, "he bends the other way, drives the wrong way up the turnpike, he's a left handed hitter, he's been smokin' the salami…"

The football headed teenager stared, completely lost. " …'smokin' the salami'? Gerald, I have no idea what you're—"

Gerald threw up his hands in exacerbation. "Geez man, do I have to spell it out for you?"He sighed, shaking his head before continuing flatly. _"_I'm saying that maybe he's into men. _Romantically._"

Understanding finally dawned in his oblong shaped head. His eyes bugged out. "OH." After a minute of feeling significantly more awkward, his conscience forced him to speak up. "We can't just… _assume_ that."

Gerald sighed again, having heard the beginning of Arnold's 'do the right thing' speeches many times. "Here we go…" he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

"I mean," Arnold continued, "If he _is_, then alright… I guess… I just have to make sure he knows that _I'm_ not interested. But either way, we shouldn't treat him any differently. We don't know anything about him, and even if we _did_, it shouldn't make a difference, really…"

They reached a junction in the hallway which split off into two routes, one going to Arnold's first class and one to Gerald's. Gerald patted his friend on the back. "Just try not to lead him on, buddy."

"Gerald!" Arnold glared at his friend yet again, but Gerald had already run down the opposite hallway, snickering as he went. Arnold shook his head and walked off towards his class.

By the time Helga had finished her quick breakfast, run back to her room, and changed into a new shirt, her first class had almost started. She'd sprinted down the hallway to the room where _Performance Poetry_ was scheduled to be and arrived just on time. To her disappointment, only one seat was left when she stepped inside: the front row, dead center. She didn't bother to look around and just stomped to the empty seat, sitting down and laying her head on her arms, allowing herself a moment of rest...

"Mr. Patterson!" Helga jerked up at the shout, seeing an exceptionally irritated looking (wasn't he always, though?) Mr. Volker glaring at her from the front of the room. "I will not tolerate sleeping in this class. _Or_ tardiness," he said in a stern voice, "On your next offence—"

"I _wasn't._" Helga spat back, crossing her arms.

Mr. Volker blinked in surprise. So did the rest of the class. A student was talking back to _him_, the most ornery teacher on staff! "_What?"_

"I _said_," she began slowly, stressing each word, "that I _wasn't_ offending. I wasn't sleeping OR tardy."

"_Insolence_ will not be tolerated _either_." Mr. Volker said, glaring down his long nose at her. Helga refused to back away, instead holding her own glare steady. She knew that she was making trouble, but if she HAD to go to this stupid school then she would make her place clear. It was obvious to her that something had crawled up this guy's butt and died long ago and she wasn't going to take his crap.

For a tense moment no one in the class dared to breathe as the two stared each other down. Then, to Helga's surprise, Mr. Volker backed down, looking away and turning up his nose. "Because it is the _first_ day," he declared, letting the whole class hear, "I'll let that slide. However, I suggest that you shape up, Mr. Patterson, or you'll find yourself removed from my class. Now everyone, welcome to _Performance Poetry. _If you'll open your books, we'll begin by examining some classic poetry that is performed quite frequently: William Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet._"

The class took out their books (which were, thankfully, provided by the school) and opened them. Mr. Volker scanned the classroom, searching for his first victim. His eyes landed on Helga, of course, being an easy target after her earlier outburst. Helga swore she saw him smirk for a second. "Mr. Patterson…" Mr. Volker began, "To be truly rounded at the art of conveying emotion through poetry, one must have experience in reciting from many perspectives. Therefore, please recite for the class _Juliet's_ first stanza on page 324. I believe it is the famous 'balcony scene'?"

By the look on his face, he seemed to think that reciting Juliet's lines would bother her. _Fat chance_, she thought. She'd played the part of Juliet in their fourth grade school play, and while it'd been a very long time ago she still remembered most of the lines. She'd put _a lot_ of effort into learning them on short notice. After all, that play had allowed her to kiss Arnold for the first time. It wasn't something she quickly forgot.

Turning to the correct page, Helga sucked in a breath to begin, but Mr. Volker added a last minute request, "Oh, don't just read form your desk. This is _Performance Poetry_! In this class, we _perform_ our readings. You may begin by standing at the front of the class."

_Alright,_ she thought, _I'll play his game._ She stood, taking the book with her (though she wasn't sure that she really needed it) and turned to face the class. If he wanted a performance so much, he was going to _get_ a performance.

She took a deep breath before reciting the words as if they had been made specifically for her:

"'_Tis but they name that is my enemy;_

_Thou art thyself, though not a Montague._

_What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,_

_Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part_

_Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!"_

She threw out an arm as if in desperation.

"_What's in a name? that which we call a rose_

_By any other name would smell as sweet;_

_So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,_

_Retain that dear perfection which he owes_

_Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,_

_And for that name which is no part of thee_

_Take all myself."_

She ended dramatically, closing her eyes and pressing her hands to her heart at the end. The class sat in stunned silence. With a cocky smirk, she opened her eyes and casually walked back to her desk.

"Th-that was… very good, Mr. Patterson." Mr Volker stuttered out. _Ha! _Helga laughed to herself, _serves him right._ After regaining some composure, Mr. Volker continued with his lesson. "Now, for another example.. Mr. Johanssen, if you would please read Mercutio's second stanza on page 330."

Helga heard the student behind her stand up. He walked up to the front and turned around. To her surprise, it was _Gerald_ that stood before them, looking down at his book, before looking up and schooling his face into a cool expression.

"_Good king of cats,_" he began, the words dancing out of his mouth in a smooth rhythm,

"_nothing but one of your nine_

_lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you_

_shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the_

_eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher_

_by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your_

_ears ere it be out."_

Helga's eyebrows raised as she watched him walk back to his seat. Who knew _Gerald_ of all people had such a talent for poetry reading? His performance had an entirely different quality than Helga's. While she had spoken with a great and dramatic passion, Gerald had instilled an almost musical quality in his words. It had been laid back while still managing to keep the class's attention.

Mr. Volker nodded in approval. "Excellent job, Mr. Johanssen. Now," He stood and began to pace around the classroom as he lectured, "both of these selections discuss passionate emotions that we've all likely come across at some point in our lives. Who has not felt the bitter sting of a conflicted love affair, or the lively anger before the start of a fight? Your assignment is to write your own poem about a passionate emotion you have experienced. You may use whatever style or format you like, but be prepared to read it in front of the class on Wednesday. Today and tomorrow will be spent working on these poems. I expect you all to put in your best effort. Now, get to work."

The rest of the class period was spent brainstorming and beginning their poems. Mr. Volker sat behind his desk, as Helga wondered just what the heck she was going to write about.

Her next two classes passed without much event. Mr. Volker was still a crank in _Creative Writing_, assigning two essays and a reading assignment. Other than the stick up Volker's butt, though, the class passed without incident. In _Trigonometry, _her lack of sleep from the night before had finally gotten to her, and she'd dosed off. The soft spoken professor either hadn't noticed, or didn't care. After the first three classes, lunch began and all of the students headed to the cafeteria. She'd gotten her trey of food (they'd had pastrami subs!) and marched off to a corner table to sit alone.

Arnold and Gerald watched her from across the lunchroom.

"There he goes again, eating alone." Arnold remarked to his friend.

"So? With his personality no one would want to sit with him anyway." Gerald said, casually biting into his sandwich. Arnold glared at him. "What?" he asked, defensively.

Arnold frowned and looked back to where Henrik sat eating alone. "Don't you feel a little bad for him?"

Gerald turned to give his friend a half-lidded, disbelieving stare. "Do you realize that you're talking about the same guy who chewed you out this morning?"

"I know, I know," the football headed teenager said as he finally looked down to his own food, "but don't you think that there might be more to him than that? I bet there's a reason why he's so angry."

"Maybe it's because he looks like Helga," Gerald mumbled, "I know _I'd_ be mad if I had to look like that."

"Gerald!"

"What?" he asked bluntly, "She's never exactly been the school beauty queen."

Arnold shot him a glare. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "That doesn't mean she's _ugly,_ it just means that she's different. Actually," Arnold continued, his face softening a little bit, "she's kind of pretty, in her own way…"

Gerald gave him a skeptical look and continued eating. "If you say so…" he said through a mouthful of food.

"Oh, don't look at me like that." Arnold waved his hand at his friend, dismissing him, "You know as well as I do that there's more to her than just being a bully. She hides it, but I'd bet that on the inside she's normal and sensitive like anybody else. Maybe she could even be nice."

Gerald just shook his head. "Man, the things you see in people…" The pair finished their food and began to head toward their next class. Just as they reached the doors, Gerald's face lit up. "Oh!" he shouted as Arnold looked over in surprise, "I forgot to tell you; that Henrik guy is in my _Performance Poetry _class. And he can read poetry _really_ dramatically. I mean it was like he'd been _in_ the play we were reading from."

Arnold playfully elbowed him. "Sounds like you might have some competition," he joked.

They stopped as they again reached the hallway junction that would take them to their respective classes. "That kid can read Juliet all he wants," Gerald said as he turned to leave, "I've never really been into that mushy stuff anyway."

Arnold stopped and turned a surprised face to Gerald's retreating figure, calling out to him. "Wait, he was reading _Juliet's _lines? Why?"

Gerald waved off his question. "I'll see you later, man!" He yelled back before he disappeared around a corner.

Arnold shrugged to himself and headed toward _AP Biology._


	6. Outcast

**A/N:**

I've been thoroughly enjoying all of your reviews! :-D At the moment I've been trying to hash out some of the details for later in the story, because I can't really continue writing the chapter I'm on (I'm a couple chapters ahead of you guys) until I do. I think I've got it figured out, which is good, because if I don't then my updates will get A LOT slower. Until then, though, here is Chapter 6… enjoy!

Disclaimer: Of all of the things I own, Hey Arnold is not among them.

**Chapter 6:**

**Outcast **

Arnold walked into class, eyeing up a second row seat on the side. As he headed toward it he noticed a smaller, brown haired boy sitting in the back, resting his head on his fist. Arnold recognized the thin adolescent to be Henrik. He was glaring down at his desk and muttering to himself. When he noticed Arnold looking at him, Arnold looked away and quickly hurried to his seat. _I just KNOW there is something up with that guy,_ he thought to himself, shaking his head.

Professor Burn entered the room and passed out the syllabus. He began the class by giving an overview of the material they were going to cover through the course: First they'd start with basic life chemistry, then move onto the cell, then Genetics and Evolution… As he examined the topics ahead and realized how much effort he was going to have to put into this class, Arnold gave a small sigh. He'd always had a bit of a knack for science and thinking logically, and understood the importance of studying, but what he enjoyed the most was always the "hands on" activities. He liked being able to _do _something, to have what he learned actually _mean_ something that he could see and feel. While he liked the thought of helping people, it was looking like the road to becoming a doctor had a lot more studying by the book and a lot less "hands on".

After a brief lecture (going over the syllabus had taken up a good chunk of the hour), the professor dismissed the class and Arnold stood up. As he gathered his things, someone rushed past him, shoving him aside roughly. He stumbled and looked up to see Henrik storming out of the room. Arnold frowned. What was _his_ problem?

* * *

Helga just wanted the day to be over. _And it's only the _first_ day,_ an annoying voice in her head reminded her. _Ugh._

She'd seen Arnold and Gerald staring at her from across the cafeteria. They hadn't been discreet about it, either. They'd gawked at her, and it had been obvious that they'd been talking about her too. Alright, it was really _Henrik_ they were supposed to be staring at, not _Helga._ But it was _Helga_ who felt everything. Not _Henrik. _And right now, she felt alienated and alone.

It was bad enough that Arnold and Gerald looked at her like she came from another planet, but they weren't the only ones. Apparently her little outburst this morning had put her on the radar. People she didn't know gave her odd looks when they thought she wasn't looking. But she'd noticed.

It was in this frame of mind that she'd stormed out of Biology, not caring that she'd nearly knocked Arnold over in the process. He sort of deserved it, anyway, with the weird look he'd been giving her at the beginning of class…

She was bored out of her mind in _History of Poetry,_ but it was almost a relief. No one gave her strange looks; they were all bored out of their minds as well. It looked like the class would be mostly reading. It was boring, but it didn't really require much effort, which was ok in Helga's book. She even managed to not doze off, which was probably a good thing considering that Mr. Volker was the teacher.

All in all it went pretty well, and Helga headed back to their room in a slightly better mood. When she arrived, she was surprised to find the room empty. _That's right,_ she thought, _Arnold has one more class than I do. He probably won't be back for another hour…_

Flopping down on her bed, she began to wonder how she should spend her free alone time. _Maybe… I should do my homework?_ She pondered this for a second before letting out a short laugh. _Nah, I do my best work at the last second anyway._ Her eyes drifted to her bag, where her still syrup soaked shirt sat. _I really need to wash that…_she thought, wrinkling her nose. _Wait… That's it!_

This was the perfect time to take her much needed shower! Jumping up excitedly, she gathered her supplies and headed to the bathroom. As she stepped inside, she grinned at the relatively bland room. _I've finally got you all to myself…_ The shoes came off first, then the shirt, then the pants… As she finally unwound the fabric that bound her chest, a breath of relief escaped her. _That_ was a big load off her chest. Literally.

The last piece was the wig. With both hands she reached up and lifted it off her head, shaking her head to let her hair fall back into place. For the first time in days (although it felt more like weeks) she was Helga again. By the time she stepped into the shower, she was almost drunk with euphoria.

And the shower—oh, THAT was ecstasy. As the water washed away the syrup and sweat, mountains of stress flowed down the drain as well. The warm water pelted a soothing rhythm on her skin, relaxing her muscles. For this short time, in the sanctuary that was the shower, she didn't have to hide.

Once she'd gotten herself spotless, she rinsed the wig as well. With nothing left to clean, she knew that she really should get out, but she lingered under the faucet for several more minutes anyway. With a sigh of reluctance, she shut off the water and dressed. When she moved to step into her pants, she found several spots of syrup that she hadn't noticed before. Frowning at them, she tossed them aside and pulled on a pair of shorts (baggy, figure masking ones of course) instead.

Fully dressed (and disguised), she walked out to the main room to find Arnold still gone. She spotted his empty bed across the room, and an idea occurred to her. She'd only been close enough to sniff his pillow a couple times in her life, but the delicious smell had stuck with her. _I wonder…_she thought, stepping over to the front of his bed, _Does he still use that same shampoo?_ She was pretty sure he did, having gotten within sniffing range of his hair several times over the past couple of years. Of course, she could go through his bag and find out once and for all, but he would be much more likely to notice if that was tampered with. Nervously looking back over her shoulder, she bent down and shoved her face into the fluffy pillow, taking a big whiff.

The results were less than satisfying. It seemed that this was not his pillow from home, and it hadn't been long enough for a smell to sink in, so it didn't really smell like anything. She frowned, but as she moved to stand up, the corner of something white poking out from under the bed caught her eye. Leaning down, she picked it up, only to discover it to be the blank side of a photograph. She flipped it over and examined the image.

A smiling blonde man with an injured arm stood next to a laughing brunette. The blonde man had his arm around the woman, whose eyes were scrunched up in laughter. They were both wearing clothing you might see on a jungle expedition… What caught Helga's interest, though, was the odd shape of the woman's head. She'd only seen that distinct football shape on one other person before… _Are these Arnold's parents?_ She thought, staring at the picture in fascination. The longer she looked, the more confident she became in her suspicions. She'd never actually seen his parents before, but she could see bits of Arnold in their features. It was a strange thing, to recognize these people she'd never known…

_Arnold probably wants this back,_ she realized. She remembered his frantic searching on the first day she'd gotten here. This must have been what he was looking for; she would have bet on it. She should give it back…

She stood up to place it in her bag for safekeeping until he got back, but paused as memories from lunch came back to her. He hadn't exactly been the nicest to her as of recent… And he hadn't even been willing to tell her _what_ he was looking for! _Maybe I should hang onto this for a while, _she thought, tucking the picture away. With that out of her system, she moved back towards "her side" of the room.

As she approached her bed and sat down, the fatigue she'd been fighting all day swam over her. _Maybe it would be alright to rest my eyes, _she thought as she laid her head against her pillow, _just for a little bit…_

* * *

The room was quiet when Arnold walked in. He hadn't expected much of a greeting from Henrik, but this was a little too quiet, especially considering his temper. Maybe he'd gone out somewhere? Arnold liked this thought. Maybe he'd made some friends of his own and he'd be less of a crank now. Or at least around less often.

Arnold continued to be comforted by this thought until he looked up and saw a pair of feet sticking off of Henrik's bed. Cautiously, he approached the bed.

With each step he took, more was visible from around the corner (where Henrik's bed was) and soon a set of bare legs became visible. A relatively hairless, shapely set of legs to be more specific. Had Henrik brought a girl over? On the first day? Curious, Arnold turned the corner to see who these legs belonged to…

…Only to be slightly shocked and disgruntled to find that they belonged to Henrik himself. Arnold looked from Henrik's sleeping face, and back to his bare legs, shaking his head. So Henrik looked like Helga, read Juliet's lines, _and_ he shaved his legs? He was proving to be a little _too_ androgynous and it was beginning to make Arnold feel _very_ uncomfortable.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Henrik's sarcastic voice broke Arnold out of his thoughts and his gaze snapped back up to his face. Henrik was definitely awake now, and he looked irritated. And suspicious. And maybe just a little nervous… "Is there a _reason_ why you've been staring at my legs for the past five minutes?" Henrik asked in a dry, irritated voice.

It probably _did_ look a little weird, Arnold realized, even if it hadn't actually been five minutes. He shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably before he answered. "Uh, sorry, and I know this is none of my business, but… Do you shave your legs?"

Henrik's eyes widened and he looked to his legs, then back to Arnold. He seemed like he was caught off guard. "I, um…" Henrik stuttered a little before beginning his explanation. Was he embarrassed? "I…. was a swimmer, okay? Having less hair helps you swim faster. You got a problem with that?" Henrik sat up and glared at him, waiting for an answer, but Arnold thought he might have caught a glint of… triumph, maybe, in his eyes?

"Oh, uh, no," Arnold said, surprised, but accepting the explanation, "I guess that makes sense." Feeling awkward just standing there, Arnold turned and dumped the books he'd been holding onto his comforter. Deciding that he had a lot of homework and wanting a reason to not look at Henrik, he grabbed a book and plopped down at the desk nearest to his bed.

Sometime before dinner, Henrik disappeared into the bathroom. He reappeared several minutes later wearing a pair of pants. After that day, the only time he wore shorts was when he slept.

* * *

The next morning passed without much event for Helga. She ate breakfast alone and again caught sight of Arnold and Gerald staring at her. Irritation built up inside her, but she did her best to ignore it. She didn't need another outburst; Arnold and Gerald still weren't the only ones who stared and the last thing she needed was more attention called to herself.

They were given the hour in _Performance Poetry_ to work on their poems. Helga pretended to work, but mostly daydreamed about what she could have been doing instead. No one bothered her, which was good, because by the end of the hour she'd doodled about fifty football heads on her paper.

She barely noticed _Creative Writing_ and _Trigonometry_ passing. They weren't going over anything important, and she wasn't very motivated to pay attention anyway. This whole summer school thing hadn't been her idea.

By lunch she was bored out of her mind. She was also beginning to feel a little lonely. Other than her brief and awkward conversations (if you could call them that) with Arnold, no one talked to her. Despite being surrounded by students, she might've just as well been in complete isolation. As she ate her lunch, alone (again), she noticed that Arnold and Gerald were looking at her from across the cafeteria. Again. Just like this morning, and yesterday. _You'd think it would get old eventually,_ she thought irritably and tried to eat faster.

* * *

"He's definitely gay."

"We don't know that, Gerald," Arnold replied as they both found themselves watching Henrik again.

"Dude, you _just_ told me that the guy shaves his legs." Gerald stated, as if that obviously proved everything.

"I said that it was _strange_ because it looked like he had shaved his legs _recently_." Arnold corrected.

Gerald turned toward Arnold and gave him a suspicious look. "What were you doing staring at the guy's legs, anyway?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

Arnold smacked his forehead. "I was NOT staring at his legs." He said in a low voice before trying to explain himself, "I just walked in and he was sleeping, and before I realized—"

"You know," Gerald interrupted, "You're not making this sound any better."

Arnold just rolled his eyes before he continued. "—and before I realized that it was Henrik I could've sworn that it was a _girl's _legs. They had… I don't know, _curves_, you know?"

Gerald squinted across the cafeteria, as if he'd be able to see Henrik's legs from there. "So this guy has some serious lady curves and shaves his legs." He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe he's got like.. a hormone imbalance or something?"

"Maybe..." Arnold said, sounding unsure. "He said he was a swimmer and that's why he shaved his legs."

"Aaah," Gerald said, nodding, "Yeah, I tried to do that back when we did that whole synchronized swimming thing."

Arnold turned to his friend and cocked an eyebrow. "Gerald, we were nine. We didn't _have_ leg hair."

Gerald shrunk down a little and looked away. "Maybe _you_ didn't.." he mumbled before sending Arnold an accusing look. "And hey, if I remember right, coach Wittenberg told us _all_ to do it. Why didn't _you_?"

Arnold shrugged his shoulders casually. "I didn't think anyone actually thought he was being serious."

"Let's just stop talking about this." Gerald snapped shortly.

"Fine by me," Arnold said, and resumed eating his lunch.

* * *

The only thing that Helga gained over her next two classes was more homework. On top of several other assignments, she'd finally have to do her poetry assignment tonight. When she arrived at their dorm, she pulled out a notebook, flopped down on her bed, and began to brainstorm, waiting for inspiration to hit her.

An hour later when Arnold arrived, she was staring at the same blank page of the same notebook. The words just weren't coming. Several minutes passed and she heard Arnold mumble something about going to work out with Gerald before he left again. She gave a frustrated sigh and decided to work on a short story for _Creative Writing_ instead. Over the years, she'd gotten pretty good at whipping out essays and short stories on demand. Once she got a feel for what topics the teacher would favor, it was just a matter of working them in. Mr. Volker definitely felt like a "dramatic controversy" kind of guy, and within thirty minutes she'd finished.

After trying and failing to write a poem yet again, she worked on an essay for _History of Poetry_, and finished within twenty minutes. Then after another failed poetry attempt, she finished a biology worksheet. It went back and forth like this until she had completed all of her homework _except_ the poem. The stupid assignment was proving to be _far _more difficult than expected. It was getting close to dinnertime when Arnold arrived, his hair a mess and covered in sweat. He headed straight into the bathroom, and she heard the water start.

Helga banged her head against her notebook. The assignment was due _tomorrow_, for crying out loud, she'd made no progress, and time was running out! It didn't help either, that just on the other side of the wall she could hear the water running, pattering on the tiles… and on the skin of a naked, wet, Football head… Simply put, it was highly distracting.

Helga shook her head and scolded herself. This was not the time to be thinking like that! She needed to focus! She lifted her head and looked back at her blank paper. _Focus…_ she told herself. A few seconds later, the water shut off and she let out a sigh of relief. _Finally, _she thought, _I can get some real work done now._ A minute passed and she'd managed to write an opening line at last. She heard the creak of the bathroom door opening and looked up.

Her pencil broke and her eyes bulged out as she watched Arnold emerge out of the steam, covered only by a small towel tied at his waist. He strode towards his bag and began gathering up clothes. Water droplets shone like small diamonds in the light as they made their way down his back, tracing every muscle. Sure, she'd called him a love god in the past, but this—THIS was a vision of Adonis himself! Divine beauty in mortal flesh!

Arnold tensed and turned, looking over his shoulder to the still awestruck Helga. She watched as mortification crossed his features before he snatched up his clothes and hurried off to the bathroom. Helga didn't realize that her mouth had fallen open until she heard him slam the door shut.

When had the kind, sweet boy, she'd met in the rain so long ago turned into such a _stud_? With a dark blush staining her cheeks, she turned back to her paper and began to write, her lack of inspiration turning into a distant memory.

* * *

"_What_ is so important that you're for it looking _now_?" Helga barked irritably, lifting her head from the pillow for a better look at the frantic boy. After twenty minutes in bed, Arnold had spontaneously gotten up, pulled out a flashlight, and started turning the room upside down in a search that grew more and more desperate. Helga had _almost_ been asleep when his little Easter egg hunt had startled her into wakefulness.

Arnold flattened himself to the floor, shining his flashlight underneath his bed. His muffled voice reached her from the floor. "I just… I _know_ it's here somewhere…" He seemed to be talking to himself more than to her.

Helga sat up with a frustrated sigh, crossing her arms. She wasn't going to get any sleep with him frogging around. "Just what is this 'it' exactly?" Helga impatiently inquired, though she had a good idea of what "it" might be, and if she was right his search was pointless...unless he decided to search her bag, of course. She would be happy to hand it over, if only he would just _tell_ her about it.

Arnold sat up and began examining the edge of his bed, lifting up the mattress. Helga raised her eyebrows at him in the darkness. Did he _really_ think he'd find it there? "It's… personal."

_Oh, come on Arnold,_ Helga groaned to herself, _it's a picture of your parents. Sure, it's a touchy subject, but it's still just a picture._ "Well… if you tell me what it is, maybe I could help you look for it," she suggested, trying not to sound irritable. It didn't work very well.

The mattress slipped from Arnold's fingers, falling on his hand. She heard him cry out, and a small wave of guilt passed through her. "Just _tell_ me," she pleaded, her voice getting a little softer, "I can hel—"

"_It's none of your business!"_ Arnold shouted, finally whipping around to face her. "Why does it _matter _to you so much? It's not _your_ problem, and it's obvious that's all you really care about." Helga reared back, sucking in a breath. She was glad he couldn't see her face in the darkness, because if he'd been able to he would've seen the hurt that broke through her angry mask. She heard him let out a weary sigh. "I'm sorry," he began, obviously weighed down by his abnormally large conscience, "I didn't mean—"

"It's _fine_," she lied, biting her lip, "You're right, I don't care if you find your stupid… whatever it is. But if I'm kept up all night because some cream puff can't sleep without his teddy bear, _someone_ is going to pay." She tried to stress the last line, but it didn't come out as convincing as she wanted it to.

"If you say so…" Arnold muttered as he switched off the flashlight and climbed back in bed. Apparently he'd given up his search for tonight.

Helga laid back down, shoving her face into her pillow. Arnold's words had stung her, and her heart clenched up a little. Yeah, he'd been trying to say that he didn't mean it, but he did. She could tell. And it bothered her. She knew that Arnold thought he was talking to _Henrik, _and not _Helga,_ but when it came down to it… how she acted as Henrik wasn't really much different than her normal self. Most of the time she wasn't acting at all. And if Arnold thought that _Henrik_ was a selfish jerk… then he probably thought the same thing about Helga.

_I haven't exactly treated him in a way that would make him think differently,_ she thought with self-loathing. _I'm too afraid to tell him how I feel and stick to it, so I bully him and call him names instead? _She sighed into her pillow._ I'm such a coward. _Tears brimmed at her eyes as the mental dam she'd constructed began to crack, holding back years of bitterness. _Maybe I really am a selfish jerk…_

A small damp spot grew on her pillow as she drifted toward sleep.

**F/N:**

I felt really bad for Helga when I wrote this... she's had to deal with a whole lot more than just unrequited love in her life. :(


	7. Midnight Confessions

**A/N:**

The last chapter was indeed pretty rough on Helga. But things get better, I promise! Also, I believe someone asked if Arnold knew if this is really Helga. I like to leave a fair bit open to interpretation, but I'm pretty sure I can answer this one: No, Arnold does not know that it is Helga at this point, at least not consciously... ;-)

Disclaimer: Hey Arnold belongs to Nickelodeon, Craig Bartlett and company, not me.

**Chapter 7: **

**Midnight Confessions**

Helga woke the next morning feeling miserable. Since her abuse of it the first day, her alarm had been sounding more like a dying cow than an electronic beeping. It really didn't help her mood.

Arnold didn't speak to her beyond a mumbled "Good morning" before he left for breakfast. She understood why he would want to leave quickly; tension from the night's argument still hung in the air. It still didn't feel good to be avoided by him, though.

Her breakfast was eaten with disinterest, alone, as was becoming usual. Dimly, she noted that she still appeared to be the main topic of conversation between Arnold and Gerald. As she made her way to _Performance Poetry_, her peers appeared to have traded the curious glances for avoiding her altogether. Having not established herself in a clique by this point, she was now deemed a social leper. Or maybe they were just avoiding her because of the terrible mood she was in.

Her professors seemed to get the hint, and didn't bother her. Even Volker gave her a break when he didn't force her to read her poem aloud. This was probably a very good thing, though, as her poem had a lot in it about "divine beauty being shaped into mortal flesh".

Her feet were dragging by the time she'd drifted through her classes and into lunch. She picked at her food, but she just didn't feel hungry. Eventually she gave up and put her head between her arms.

_Three days._ It'd been _three days,_ and she already felt like giving up. She'd had virtually no social contact with anyone, and Arnold was so emotionally distant he might've been on the other side of the planet. Her classes weren't interesting or intellectually stimulating, and between them and homework you pretty much summed up her life right now. No one at this school wanted her there (including herself), but she _had_ to stay for her own wellbeing. The past three days had been some of the most stressful she'd ever experienced, and she had no one to talk to about it. She was completely alone. How was she supposed to endure a whole summer of this?

* * *

"He's sitting by himself again, Gerald."

Gerald rolled his eyes, not bothering to look up from his food. "Are we going to talk about this _every_ time we eat?" he complained.

Arnold ignored him. Gerald could feel a speech coming on… "It's been three days now and he's still eating by himself. I think he hasn't made any friends."

Gerald snorted. "Like that's surprising."

Arnold sent him a quick glare but turned back to Henrik. He'd noticed how depressed Henrik had looked this morning, and had spent the last three hours feeding a sizable amount of guilt. He'd snapped last night and yelled, but Henrik hadn't really deserved it. Sure, in the short time he'd known him Henrik had proven to be mean and rude at times, but it didn't give Arnold an excuse to act the same way. Henrik must have had feelings of his own, and he was pretty sure that he'd hurt them last night. "It must be really lonely…" he muttered after a while.

Gerald looked up from his food, a small trace of fear showing in his eyes. "Oh no," he groaned, "I think I know where this is going…"

Arnold ignored him and dove into his speech. "Ok, yeah, he's a little weird and can be really mean and looks just like Helga… but when you get down to it, he's still a person with feelings, just like the rest of us. And… He shouldn't have to sit all alone over there when we can do something about it. Maybe he just needs a friend."

"Arnold," Gerald said sternly, "I am NOT going to go sit with that guy. I know you like to think that every cloud has a silver lining, but face it, some just _don't._ Maybe that guy _likes_ being alone."

"You don't have to come," Arnold said as he grabbed his trey and began to stand, "but I'm going to go talk to him." He departed from his own table, leaving Gerald alone to shake his head at him as he walked away. Slowly, he crossed the expanse between the tables, each step bringing him closer to the lone figure. Finally, Arnold stood in front of the table where Henrik was slumped over with his head down. Arnold cleared his throat.

When Henrik still didn't look up, he spoke. "Uh, Hi Henrik," he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He felt awkward coming up to him like this out of the blue, but his resolve did not weaken.

Henrik's head slowly lifted up to look at Arnold through narrowed eyes. "What do _you_ want?" he said, as if repulsed by the very sight of him.

"Well," Arnold began, "I noticed that you were sitting alone and I thought that you might like some company."

Henrik crossed his arms and glared. "Did it ever occur to you that I might _like_ sitting alone?"

_Never heard that before,_ Arnold thought sarcastically. Carefully stilling his annoyance, Arnold pressed on. "Just in case you _don't_ like sitting alone," he said as he placed his trey and began to sit down, "If you don't mind, I'd like to join you today." Henrik looked about to protest, but then a weary look crossed his face and (to Arnold's surprise) he turned his face away and grumbled, "If you insist."

They sat in silence for several minutes; Henrik sent death glares to the corner and Arnold fidgeted nervously. He had wanted to help Henrik, but now that he was here he didn't know what to do. What was he supposed to say? 'I feel bad about snapping at you last night'? 'I'd like to be your friend so you'll stop acting like a jerk'? After another minute of awkward quiet, Arnold finally spoke up. "So, I don't think you've met my friend Gerald. He's sitting over there." Arnold gestured over his shoulder. "He might take a little while to come around, but I bet he'd be alright with sitting with you too."

Henrik stopped glaring at the corner to look at Arnold incredulously. "_That_ womanizer?"

Arnold's eyebrows shot up. It wasn't exactly false; Gerald did have somewhat of a reputation with the ladies. Ever since he was voted "class hunk" by Rhonda in the eighth grade, he'd gotten it into his head that he was a gift to all womankind. Then he'd proceeded to spend the next couple years dating half of the school, some of them at the same time. He always liked to brag to Arnold about his exploits, most of which were _far _more detailed than he wanted to know. He suspected that Gerald exaggerated a lot, though. But how did _Henrik_ know about any of that? "D-Do you know him?" Arnold stuttered out.

"Uh.." Henrik looked away for a second before continuing. "I… can just see it on him, you know? It's in the way he walks." _Well, that's true_, Arnold thought. Gerald _did_ have a bit of a strut_. _And he was somewhat of a womanizer. But he wasn't a bad guy! If he could just explain it to Henrik…

"Everyone has their faults, but Gerald really is—"

"Gerald really is what?" The voice of the man himself came from behind him. He turned to find his friend standing next to his shoulder. Apparently he had decided to join them. "You guys talking about me?" He said as he sat down next to Arnold.

In front of them Henrik leaned his head on his hand. "Great, everyone's here. Isn't this just a party…" he muttered.

Arnold ignored him. "I was going to say that Gerald's a really great guy."

Gerald looked suspiciously at his friend. "And why would there be any reason to dispute that fact?" he questioned, a slight cocky air to his voice.

Arnold glanced at Henrik and back to Gerald. He'd _just_ managed to sit next to Henrik without being chewed out (mostly). Would Henrik hold it against him if he was honest? "Well…" Arnold began hesitantly, "Henrik might have said you look like you're… good with the ladies."

"A womanizer is what I said," Henrik added flatly, "I can tell just by looking at you."

"I _may_ have been known to show the ladies a good time…" Gerald seemed to take Henrik's accusation as a compliment. Arnold didn't think it was something he should be proud of, but he stayed silent. "But it takes one to know one, Henrik." Gerald supplied, cocking an eyebrow at him in question. Henrik didn't respond and seemed to freeze, until Gerald continued. "So how 'bout it Henrik? You have any fine ladies back home?"

Henrik let out a breath before answering. "I think dating is kind of pointless. It's all just an excuse to have casual sex." He seemed much calmer now, Arnold noted. What had scared him so much earlier?

"At least you've got an excuse," Gerald replied. Arnold continued to scrutinize Henrik as he talked. Something was definitely up with this guy… "My man Arnold over here has none. I've seen tons of girls check him out and he never goes for it." Arnold watched as Henrik froze up again, caught in the middle of shoving a french fry into his mouth. Something must be—wait, what was that Gerald just said? "I don't think the guy's even kissed a girl before!" Gerald finished. Arnold lost all interest in figuring out what was up with Henrik.

"Hey! I've kissed a girl before!" Arnold piped in, offended. If he _had_ been paying attention to Henrik, he might've noticed that he was hanging on Arnold's every word.

"Oh yeah?" Gerald challenged. "When? I've never even seen you ask a girl out, and I've known you a _long_ time. So when did you sneak this kiss in?"

Arnold blushed and looked down. He should've kept his mouth shut. "It… was a long time ago," he mumbled out. Gerald cocked an eyebrow, before an amused look crossed his face.

"You're not actually talking about that school play back in elementary school, are you?" Gerald said, beginning to chuckle a little. Arnold groaned internally. Why was Gerald pressing the issue? He really didn't want to talk about this in front of Henrik. Glancing up at the person in question, Arnold noticed that he was blushing too. The subject didn't even have to do with him and it was making him feel uncomfortable. Poor guy. Why couldn't Gerald take a hint? "Are you?" Gerald inquired.

Arnold shifted uncomfortably and refused to look at either of them. "No, I'm not," he mumbled.

Gerald actually looked curious now. This wasn't good. "So?" Gerald pressed on, "When was it?"

In truth, he'd been kissed several times, all by the same girl. Only once had happened when they weren't acting, though, and it had happened on a rooftop. With Helga Pataki, of all people.

Arnold really didn't want to tell him about Helga kissing him on top of the FTi building. _Especially_ not in front of Henrik. It would just bring on too many questions he couldn't answer. The whole "Helga confessing that she loved him only to deny it right after" thing sort of complicated the issue. Actually, he'd always felt a bit confused about it himself… But he had to say something. "Back when we saved the—"

"I think I'll be going now," Henrik interrupted and stood, "if you two are done boring me with your love lives." Arnold watched as he grabbed his trey and walked away, grateful for the interruption. Maybe Henrik hadn't intended it, but he'd just saved him from a lot of embarrassment.

Once Henrik was out of sight, Gerald spoke up. "_That,_" he said, stressing the word, "was for leaving me alone back there and forcing me to eat with this guy." He sent Arnold an accusatory look. "But seriously now, why hadn't I heard about this kissing thing before now?"

"I think we should head to class before we're late." Arnold said quickly as he stood up and headed for the doors.

"Hey!" Gerald shouted after him, almost tripping as he hurried out of his seat. "Don't think you're off the hook! I'll just ask you about it later!"

Arnold didn't pause when he reached the doors. "Sure, Gerald, whatever you say!" He shouted back to his friend. "I'll see you later!"

Gerald shook his head and headed toward his next class.

* * *

Helga sat in the back of the Biology classroom watching the students filter in. Her palms felt sweaty as she rolled her pencil between her fingers. _That_ had been close. _Too_ close. And not just once.

When Gerald had said 'It takes one to know one', she had been _sure_ that he was talking about knowing who she was. She was lucky that they didn't seem to notice her freezing up. That was too obvious. She needed to get a better poker face, and quickly. And she'd done it again, when Gerald had started talking about Arnold's kissing experiences. Of course she had to listen when he'd mentioned something like that. But why had Gerald even brought it up, anyway? Did he _normally_ go around talking about kissing with people he just met? _Actually, _she chuckled darkly to herself, thinking of his reputation as a womanizer, _he sort of does._

Helga had lost a lot of respect for Gerald when he'd started going out with anything that had a pair of breasts. That had been bad in itself, but her real problem had been what he'd done to Phoebe. She and Gerald had flirted around dating all through later elementary school and early middle school. Phoebe didn't generally open up about romance, but Helga had known how much she'd liked him. For a while, it really had looked like they were going to work together. And then Rhonda had put together that stupid class survey and ruined it all. Gerald's head had inflated to the size of a blimp and he'd thoughtlessly chased after other girls. So what if they had never been "officially" dating. It still hurt for Phoebe to be just… forgotten about like that. And then he'd had the gall to ask her out shortly after. Phoebe had politely turned him down, and Gerald's name had been avoided between she and Helga ever since. Helga was pretty sure that it _still_ hurt Phoebe sometimes, all these years later.

Arnold, on the other hand… he had been pretty dead to the dating world. She had no idea why; several girls had tried to ask him out over the years (she knew because she'd tried to foil several attempts) but he just didn't seem interested. He always had homework, or his grandpa needed help with something, or there was that one time he was busy volunteering at a homeless shelter... It was a little strange that he always had an excuse, but she wasn't going to question it as long as he stayed single. What she wondered about more was why he hadn't mentioned the FTi incident to Gerald. Everyone knew they were best friends, and he'd certainly had enough time to tell him. Why hadn't he blabbed about it?

_Speak of the devil, _she thought as Arnold appeared in the classroom doorway. She watched him scan the classroom until his eyes landed on her. Why was he still so focused on being her friend? _Oh no,_ she groaned internally as he began to walk toward her, _I've become one of his charity cases._ She hadn't had the heart to turn him down at lunch, not when she had been feeling so miserable and lonely herself. But look at how that turned out; Her cover had almost been blown! The last thing she needed right now was for Arnold to be his normal meddling self.

He pulled up a seat next to her and smiled. "Hey," he said, pulling out his books, "How are you handling the material so far?"

Helga rolled her eyes as if annoyed by Arnold's kind question. Maybe she could scare him off if she was callous enough. "I'm doing _fine,_ not that it's any of your business. If I wanted help from someone like _you_ I'm would've asked. Not that I ever _would_ want _your_ help." She turned up her nose at him, but peaked at him through the corner of her eye. He frowned and turned away, and for a moment she thought maybe she'd succeeded.

Then he spoke again. "Well, my offer is still open if you ever need help," he said kindly. Helga was about to spit out something nasty at him when the teacher came in and began to lecture, effectively cutting off their conversation.

Helga glanced over as he talked, catching a glance of Arnold's studious note taking. She was debating if throwing a spitball or two like she used to in elementary school would be enough to get Arnold to back off. There was a chance she would get thrown out for something like that, though, so she decided against it. It was kind of important that she didn't get kicked out of school and killed by a psychopath.

Suddenly she became aware that the classroom had gone silent. Helga blinked up and looked around, only to find the entire class staring at her expectantly. "Mr. Patterson?" The professor asked from the front of the room, "I believe I asked you to explain to the class why land near large bodies of water usually stays warmer during the winter?"

Helga sputtered, her mind blank. She hadn't been listening to the lecture, so she had no idea what they were talking about. She also hadn't done the assigned reading…

"Mr. Manning, isn't it because the water absorbs the heat all through summer, and due to its high specific heat, it lowers in temperature more slowly than its surroundings?" Arnold's smooth voice came from her right, breaking the silence. Helga turned to look at him in awe. He flashed her a quick smile before turning back to the teacher, who did not look happy.

The teacher frowned at Arnold. "That is correct, young man, but I didn't call on you. Please don't speak out of turn like that again or you'll be asked to leave." Helga watched Arnold nod, and the professor went back to his lecture.

Helga's shock slowly began to turn into guilt. Arnold had just stuck his neck out for her, and she had been thinking about throwing spitballs at him! Maybe it wouldn't hurt to let him hang around her a little… he was probably too dense to figure out who she really was on his own, anyway…

When the class ended, Arnold walked with her to the door. When they passed the threshold Arnold began to walk away toward his next class, but Helga tapped him on the shoulder. He looked back at her, slightly confused.

She looked toward the ground and wrung her hands together. "Thanks…" she mumbled, just loud enough to hear, "…for doing that back there…"

Arnold just smiled and waved it off. "No problem, Henrik," he said as he turned away, "I'll see you later." Helga watched him go, a distinct and familiar fluttering building in her chest, before turning to go to her next class as well.

* * *

Helga was already dressed for bed by the time Arnold arrived at their room. Apparently he'd decided to do something with Gerald, and it'd taken all evening. To her disappointment, she also didn't see them at dinner. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing; the less time either of them spent with her, the less likely it would be that one of them would figure out who she was. It still made her feel a little lonely though. Maybe Arnold had decided she was a lot cause…

When Arnold walked through the door, Helga hadn't expected much of an explanation. After all, he had no real obligation to keep her company. It surprised her then, when the first thing he did was apologize.

"I'm sorry I wasn't around all evening," He said as he grabbed his things for bed, "Gerald and I discovered that they have racquet ball courts over at the other end of the school, and we got so busy trying them out that we were late for dinner." Arnold threw a smile her way as he headed to the bathroom to change. "It was a lot of fun; you can join us tomorrow, if you want." She still hadn't said a word when he shut the bathroom door.

Helga sat on her bed as she processed this information. So he _didn't_ think she was a lost cause… This was both good and bad news: good in that she would get to spend more time with Arnold, but bad in that they might figure out that "Henrik" wasn't who he said he was. She could try to push him away again, but he'd been so nice to her… Her eyes fell on her bag and she felt a surge of guilt.

He'd gone well out of his way to be kind to her, despite her caustic responses, and she was holding out on him. Slowly, she slid off her bed and began to dig through her bag. Maybe she could make up for it…

When Arnold emerged from the bathroom, Helga was standing in the middle of the room, a small piece of paper delicately held between her fingers. She had been staring at her toes guiltily, but looked up as he approached. "I found this while you were gone," she said quietly, holding the photo out to him, "…I think it might be what you were looking for."

Arnold took the picture from her hand. As he looked down at it his eyes widened and his mouth formed a small 'o' shape. He stayed in that position for a moment, and Helga worried that he might realize that she'd hidden it from him and be angry. Instead, he threw his arms around her.

"I've been looking for this forever!" He exclaimed as he gave her a quick hug. "You have no idea what this means to me!"

Helga felt her face heat up. "Th-there's no need to get all touchy feely on me, I just found the stupid thing…" Helga stuttered, shoving him away. Arnold left the hug and hurried to his suitcase, pulling out a frame. Carefully, he placed the picture in the frame and set it on his desk. He stared at it a moment.

Helga was still blushing in the middle of the room and trying to calm her racing pulse, when he spoke. "They're my parents," he said softly. "It's the only picture of them I brought with me." She saw the stillness that had come over him and bit her tongue, unsure of what to say. Before she had to decide, Arnold turned toward her and spoke again. "Thank you for finding it, Henrik."

"No problem," she said and turned to get the lights so he wouldn't see the blush on her face for very long. She felt her way to her bed in the darkness, pulling the covers over herself and getting settled. By the sounds coming from the other side of the room, Arnold was doing the same.

She stared into the blackness for a moment, thinking about what had just happened. Arnold had told her (well, he'd told Henrik) that the picture was of his parents, but he hadn't mentioned that they weren't around anymore… He probably didn't feel comfortable talking about what happened to them with someone he'd met so recently. When Helga thought about it, she realized that _she_ didn't even know what happened to his parents. It was common knowledge that he didn't have parents, but the reason why was a mystery. In all of her stalking, she'd never heard him say anything about it. Did he even know what happened to them?

"Henrik?" The sound of Arnold's voice brought her out of her pondering.

"What?" she said, sounding slightly irritated.

"Sorry if you were trying to sleep, but I just wanted to say…" Arnold's voice came from the other side of the room, "…I'm sorry if I've acted weird around you at all. It's just that… there's this girl I know back home, and well, don't take this the wrong way, but you look just like her." Helga began to feel very nervous.

"Oh?" she said, trying to sound normal, "What's her name?"

"Her name's Helga, not that it really matters… but the point is that you kind of look _exactly_ like her. It sort of weirded me out for a while…"

Helga laughed nervously. "Does this Helga person look like a guy?"

"No," he answered, "but sometimes _you_ don't really look like a guy either."

Her heart skipped a beat. _He figured it out?!_ Helga panicked inside her head. She held her breath, awaiting the accusation that was sure to come…

Soft laughter came out of the darkness instead. "Sorry, that was mean," Arnold chuckled. "You just look like her is all." There was a silence in which Helga was too relieved to speak and Arnold waited for an answer. When he got none, he decided to speak. "We should probably go to sleep now. Sorry if I kept you up; I just wanted to get that off of my chest."

"Night," she finally managed out.

"Goodnight," Arnold responded, and all was quiet. Alone with her thoughts, it was over an hour later before Helga was calm enough to close her eyes and try to sleep.


	8. Cat Fight

**A/N:**

Sorry for the slightly later than usual posting, I had some stuff to do. I've also been working on some stuff a couple chapters ahead that I'm very excited about! But you'll see that when we get there.. I hope you all enjoy this slightly short chapter! If you have any comments, questions, suggestions, ect., then please review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold. Helga does. (Kidding… sort of)

**Chapter 8:**

**Cat Fight**

Life got much better for Helga once Arnold decided to befriend Henrik. She hadn't realized just how serious he'd been about it until she emerged from the bathroom the next morning, and found him waiting for her, a warm smile on his face. They'd walked to breakfast silently, and met up with Gerald just outside the cafeteria doors. He hadn't looked happy to see "Henrik" tagging along behind his friend, but joined them silently anyway. An uncomfortable silence hung over them as they sat to eat their food.

Arnold cleared his throat. "So, uh, Gerald… How about that racquet ball game yesterday?" he said, clearly trying to make the situation less awkward.

"What about it?" Gerald replied. He was distracted, eyeing up Helga as she ate her breakfast. Obviously, he didn't like "Henrik's" presence and was sending every signal possible to make "him" feel unwelcome. Helga chose to intentionally ignore him. The less she said, the better.

"Well… it was fun, right?" Arnold suggested rather pitifully.

"Yeah, sure," Gerald said distractedly, still focused on Henrik.

"Henrik might join us if we go back there today," Arnold said, finally getting Gerald's attention.

"What?!" he shouted, turning to Arnold. "_He's_ joining us?"

"Well, yeah, if he wants to…" Arnold said uncomfortably. "I invited him."

"_Why_ did you do _that_?" Gerald exclaimed, completely ignoring the irritated look that was forming on "Henrik's" face. "I'm not sure if _I_ want to go now," he muttered just loud enough for Helga to hear.

Arnold sucked in a breath to answer, but Helga beat him to it. "Smart move, _boy_. You must already know that you'd lose," she said tauntingly, "Or are you too scared to try?"

Gerald instantly turned to glare at her. "Who are you calling _boy?"_ he growled out at her.

"Who do you think, Sherlock?" Helga spat back at him, returning his glare with intensity.

Gerald leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. "I would _crush_ you." He said threateningly.

Helga leaned forward as well, nearly nose-to-nose with him. She spoke in a low voice, made lower by the retainer. "I _dare_ you to even _try."_

There was a pause where they sat glaring at each other, neither one willing to back down. "_Fine." _Gerald said, leaning back. "Meet us at the racquet ball courts, and we'll see just how fast you fall._"_

Helga stood up and grabbed her trey, glaring down at him. "Oh, it's _on_." With one last look, she turned and walked away, dumping her trey off as she left.

Arnold watched the exchange in silence. That hadn't gone well _at all_. Gerald spoke up next to him, still glaring at door that Henrik had disappeared into. "There's something _fishy_ about that guy," he said in frustration. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that he _was_ Helga."

Arnold frowned and shrugged, more concerned with Henrik's wellbeing than his resemblance to Helga at the moment. "Just… try not to go too hard on him, okay?" Gerald didn't respond and the pair finished their breakfast in silence.

* * *

Helga sat nervously in their dorm room, waiting for Arnold to show up and take her to the racquet ball courts. _Why_ had she let Gerald get to her like that? She'd been asking herself that question all day since the challenge this morning. To make matters worse, she'd gotten all up in Gerald's face when it happened. As if he needed a closer look to figure out who she was and blow her cover… If he wasn't suspicious before, he would be _for sure_ now. He'd certainly glared at her enough in _Performance Poetry_.

At that moment Arnold walked in, throwing his stuff on his bed. "Are you ready?" He said as he turned to her, a slightly worried look on his face. She nodded. As they made their way to the courts, he spoke again, somewhat hesitantly. "It probably wasn't a good idea to challenge Gerald like that… He can hit the ball pretty hard…"

Helga folded her arms against her flattened chest. "I can take care of myself," she grumbled, "And besides, _he _was the one who started it."

Arnold had been about to say something, but they had reached the racquet ball courts. Gerald stood just outside of the doors, holding the ball and racquets for all three of them. "I'm surprised you showed up, Henrik." He said when he saw them approaching. "I thought you were going to chicken out."

Anger instantly built up inside of her. "Fat chance," She said, grabbing a racquet from him and marching into the room. Arnold approached his friend.

"Gerald, I know you're mad, but—" he was cut off.

"Oh, don't start that Arnold, this guy's been asking for it and you know it."

"But—"

Gerald again cut him off. "You know what?" He said crossly, "If you're so concerned about him, then you can be on _his_ team." He shoved Arnold's racquet at him and followed Henrik inside. After closing the door, Arnold reluctantly took his place next to Henrik. As Gerald was at a disadvantage, he took the first serve. After bouncing the ball off the floor a couple of times, he smacked the ball with momentous force. It bounced off the far wall and went soaring away with blinding speed. They scrambled to return the ball, Arnold reaching it first. The two teams went back and forth until Gerald finally missed the ball after Helga had hit it back at him.

The game continued this way, and Arnold and Helga made a surprisingly good team (as long as Helga wasn't shoving him out of the way). Gerald scored few points, and eventually they decided that he was at too much of a disadvantage. Arnold switched teams, and Helga was left on her own.

"That's fine," she said as she walked up to serve, "I can take you _both_ on."

The game quickly changed. Playing against the two of them was significantly more difficult than playing Gerald alone had been. But Helga was determined to win, and raced around the court after the ball. Arnold and Gerald returned her every hit while she sprinted and dove to return theirs. It was twice the work, but she refused to lose.

Ten minutes passed and still no one had scored. Helga was breathing heavily and sweating, but she refused to give up. Finally, she hit the ball and Arnold and Gerald both dove for it. They ran into each other and missed the ball, allowing Helga to score her first point.

"Eat my dust, Gerald!" She shouted, throwing her hands up in celebration.

Gerald sent her a glare. "You'd have to get three more points to beat me when I was on my own."

"Alright then," she said as she took up an athletic stance, "_Bring it on."_ They served, and the game continued. It went on into the evening, almost into dinner before Helga scored another point. They were surprisingly matched despite being two against one; Helga's determination gave her an edge.

Another point later and Gerald was getting nervous. One more point and Henrik would beat him…

"It's your serve," Helga said, panting, "What's the hold up? You scared I'm going to beat you?" She spun the racquet in her hand, egging him on. Gerald's face darkened as he stepped up to serve. He bounced the ball a couple times before hitting it with all he was worth. This was saying something, because Gerald worked out regularly. The ball hit the front wall and flew away with terrifying speed.

Helga ran to hit it, but it flew over her reach, bounced off the back wall and smacked her in the back of the head. Arnold ran over as she fell to the ground. "Henrik, are you alright?" he said as he crouched next to her, "Can you hear me?"

She stared up at him deliriously and began to speak tenderly. "Oh _Arnold_, my—" She cut herself off as she came to her senses. "…my, uh, m-my you've gotten all touchy feely! Give me some space, would ya?" Arnold scooted away and Helga sat up. Her head hurt and she felt a little dizzy, but she'd had worse before.

"Are you alright?" Arnold repeated.

"I'm _fine,"_ she said and forced herself to stand up. Despite her best efforts, she swayed a little on her feet. Arnold frowned and turned to Gerald, who was still standing on the other end of the court but looked a little guilty now.

"I think we should just call it a draw and end the game now. We've probably nearly missed dinner anyway," Arnold said as he stood up.

Gerald nodded and walked over to Helga. "That was a good game," he said, clapping her on the shoulder, "Next time I'll try to not knock you out."

Helga looked at him suspiciously, unsure if he was genuine or not. Being significantly more observant than Arnold when it came to these things, Gerald noticed. "No hard feelings?" he said, sticking out his hand.

She cautiously took it. "Does this mean you accept defeat?" she asked, a small smile forming on her lips.

"Now _that_ I did not say," Gerald replied as he let go of her hand.

"I _guess_ I can accept a tie," Helga said as she made her way towards the door. "Now are we going to dinner or what? I could eat a buffalo_._" She ducked out the door, and the other two followed after her.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Arnold whispered to Gerald before they caught up to "Henrik".

"I _guess_ I can live with him hanging out with us, if it means that much to you," Gerald whispered back, knowing how Arnold could get when he set his mind to something. Arnold smiled and offered his thumb to his friend. As they did their special handshake, Henrik yelled for them to hurry up. Still breathing heavily from their exertion, the three made their way down the hall to the cafeteria.

Helga allowed Arnold and Gerald to do most of the talking at dinner, as it was still safer to draw less attention to herself. It was easier to do, now that they seemed more comfortable with Henrik. If she kept it up, they might even start thinking she was shy. _All the better, _she thought as they talked, _I'll have to explain less about 'Henrik'._

* * *

Helga encouraged Arnold to take a shower first once they got back, making up an excuse about needing to finish some homework before she went to bed. She was hoping that he would finish up everything he needed to do so that there was less of a possibility that he would walk in on her. She waited some time after he was done before going to shower, pretending to be working on homework. When Arnold appeared to be ready for bed, she figured that she could chance it.

At last, Helga found herself alone in the bathroom. She let out a relieved sigh as she stripped herself of her many layers, leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor and placing the wig on top. She'd grab it and rinse it out later, at the end of her shower. For now she just enjoyed the soothing water and began to soap up. Yes, the shower seemed to be the only place now where she didn't have to hide…

There was a light tapping on the door and Helga froze. The door creaked as if it had been opened a crack. "Henrik?" Arnold's voice called out, "Are you in the shower yet? I need to come in and brush my teeth." Helga poked her head out, splattering the wall with water. The wig was sitting out of reach in the center of the bathroom floor. _If Arnold sees that wig,_ she thought in a panic, _I'm done for!_ But the door was beginning to slide open, and she couldn't just run out there naked and get it! At the last second she grabbed her towel and threw it at the pile of clothes. Just as Arnold became visible she ducked her head back in the shower, desperately hoping that the towel had fallen in the right spot.

She sat there, unable to move from nervousness, as she heard Arnold begin to run water. The only thing between him and her very naked, very _female_ body was a thin wall. The shower didn't even have a door for crying out loud, only an opaque curtain. _So far so good…_ she thought, hearing him begin to brush his teeth. _Then again, maybe he just wants clean teeth before he announces that he's figured it out… _Eventually the sound of bristles brushing against his teeth stopped, and she heard the water run again. A few seconds later she heard the door open and close again, and let out the breath she'd been holding.

_That was too close_, she thought as she finished up her shower and quickly dressed. _I have to be more careful,_ she scolded herself as flopped down on her bed, exhausted. After this week, her nerves were shot.

Arnold glanced over at her as he climbed into bed. "You look beat. I guess that was some racquet ball game, huh?"

Helga snorted. "Yeah. Some game alright…" Arnold missed her double meaning.

_And the game's not over yet…_


	9. Suspicion

**A/N:**

Hello all! Please pardon my attempt at Helga-like poetry in this chapter. I tried my best, but I'm pretty sure that I don't even compare to what Helga's standard would be. Seriously, did you _hear_ some of her poems on the show? And she was NINE! I can only imagine what she'd have grown into by 17. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and I appreciate any reviews you have . Also, if there's anything in particular that you'd like to see in later chapters, feel free send a review my way about that too. The last part of this chapter was actually added in after hydeandjackieforever20's review. Obviously some things won't work because the part is already written or something, but sometimes you guys have had really cool ideas, and I'd like to incorporate them!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold

**Chapter 9: **

**Suspicion **

The next morning, Arnold informed Helga that he would be traveling back to Hillwood for the weekend. As she had nowhere to go, that meant she'd be spending the weekend alone. _Oh joy…_ she thought sarcastically. _At least I can probably have a couple days where my cover isn't almost blown._

_Performance Poetry_ began smoothly, especially as Gerald wasn't glaring at her anymore. Maybe if she was lucky, it'd be smooth sailing from here out… As she had that thought, Mr. Volker walked into the room with a spring in his step. He was almost skipping, actually.

"Students, if I may have your attention please!" He raised his voice, quieting the class, "I have exciting news!" Helga was instantly suspicious of any news _this_ man would call exciting. "Wilson Hill Academy will be hosting a Poetry tournament, and as part of this class, you will all be required to participate!" Just like she'd thought, that was _not _something to be excited about. "The tournament will take place over the majority of our six week course. Near the end of the summer session, two finalists will be chosen to perform at the Annual Wilson Hill Arts Festival." He picked up a stack of papers and began to pass them out. "Please read through the rules over the weekend. You will need to fill out these forms by Monday, along with your first submission."

_Great,_ Helga thought, rolling her eyes, _Just what I need. More of my poems read aloud. Maybe I can submit a terrible poem and get out of the running early…_

As if he'd heard her thoughts, Mr. Volker spoke up again, "Should a student drop out of the tournament, they will continue to perform for the class. I have decided to make this our main project for the course, so I expect you all to do your best! Work done during this tournament will count for a large percentage of your grade!"

_There goes that plan…_

Mr. Volker then proceeded to give them several reading assignments for "inspiration" and gave them the rest of the hour to either read or work on their poetry assignments. Helga grudgingly began to brainstorm, accepting the fact that she had to at least _try_ in this tournament.

* * *

Helga watched Arnold go that afternoon feeling both a little sad and relieved. The room was significantly more empty without him. On the bright side, her chances of being discovered went down to about nil. Still, she went into the weekend feeling much brighter than she had at the beginning of the week.

Helga was left with very little to do over the weekend. So little, in fact, that she actually found herself doing homework to relieve her boredom. By the end of Saturday she'd nearly finished all of it. While it she _was_ bored out of her mind, the free time actually did quite a bit to calm her nerves. It'd been a long week, and it was nice to have a few days where she wasn't almost having a heart attack from anxiety.

With Arnold gone, she had expected the weekend to pass without much contact from anyone she knew. Therefore, she was surprised when on Sunday afternoon there was a knock on her door. She'd cautiously opened it, and was surprised to find Gerald standing outside.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She asked, looking at him suspiciously. She got the feeling that Gerald still wasn't all that fond of Henrik, and that made her all the more nervous to see him there. Without Arnold around as a buffer, being around Gerald could be dangerous. He frequently had shown himself to be more observant than Arnold, and there was nothing here to distract him. It would be best to find out what he wanted and send him on his way quickly.

"Hey Henrik," Gerald said, hands in his pockets, "How're you doing on that poetry assignment?"

"Fine…" she trailed off, still unsure as to why he was here.

"Yeah, I'm almost done with mine," He supplied the fact even though she hadn't asked, "I'm planning on finishing it tonight. You done with your's yet?" Helga frowned. Clearly, he was beating around the bush about _something_. What exactly it was she didn't know, but the longer he stayed there the higher the chance was that he'd notice something he wasn't supposed to.

"I finished it yesterday," she said quickly before getting down to business, "Now quit the small talk. What are you here for?" A little rude maybe, but she needed to get him out of here.

"Ok, look," he said shortly, "Arnold has been my best friend for _years_, and he seems to have it set in his head that he's going to make friends with you and help you turn over a new leaf or something. The guy has a heart of gold and thinks he has to fix every problem he comes across. In all the time I've known him, he's never been able to resist a lost cause. Now, I've seen Arnold do some pretty amazing things, don't get me wrong, but even he can make mistakes." He paused and looked Helga in the eye. She forced herself to keep her expression the same. "I'm going to trust him on this one, for now," Gerald continued slowly, "Usually, if Arnold thinks you're a good guy at heart, you are. But just in case he should turn out to be wrong," he took a step and leaned forward, "_I'll_ be watching. I can tell you're hiding something." Her heart started to beat faster and her palms began to sweat, but she refused to show any expression. "Maybe it's none of my business. But if you do anything that hurts Arnold, you'll be answering to _me_." He leaned back, folding his arms.

"I'll keep that in mind." Helga said, keeping up her poker face.

Gerald cleared his throat and seemed to relax a little. "Good, well, glad we got that out in the open." He smiled as he began to turn away, completely at odds with how he was behaving just seconds ago. "Hope you had a nice weekend, Henrik!" he called back to her as he disappeared down the hallway.

Helga shut the door and wiped her sweaty palms on her shirt. _That_ had been a heart stopper. One thing was for sure: She'd have to be very careful around Gerald from now on.

* * *

The rules for the Poetry tournament were as follows: _All contestants must fill out the required paperwork to enter into the competition. Once the proper paperwork has been submitted, contestants will perform their entries twice weekly at a predetermined time and place. Each performance must be of a new poem; contestants cannot perform the same poem twice. A panel of unbiased judges will then vote on their favorite performances and select several contestants to remove from the competition. A bulletin displaying the progress and/or results of the tournament will be displayed at a public location throughout the duration of the competition. Contestants must submit a photograph of themselves for placement in the bulletin display. _

It was this last part that Helga was having trouble with. She'd known that something was up when she'd walked into _Performance Poetry_ and found Mr. Volker prepping his camera, so she had started skimming the rules of the silly little competition. Now Mr. Volker was standing in front of her, irritable as usual and camera in hand. "I'm not getting my picture taken," she said, crossing her arms. She was the last to go; the rest of their class had stepped in front of the blank wall and gotten their pictures taken without argument.

Mr. Volker frowned at her. "Mr. Patterson, participation in this tournament is _mandatory_ for this class, and the picture is _required_ for the tournament."

"Can't you just put my name up without the picture?" she pleaded. Having her picture up for everyone to see was a bad idea. She couldn't be around the thing 24/7, and anyone could come up and look at it while she wasn't there. Sure, Danny Usher probably wasn't running around their school waiting for pictures of her to pop up, but it was still a terrible idea. Call it intuition, call it a hunch, but she had a strong feeling that this would only lead to trouble.

The ornery professor shook his head as if the idea was preposterous. "No. All contestants must have a picture. Should you not be willing to submit your picture, you will fail the class."

Helga let out a reluctant sigh. "_Fine," _she said, crossing her arms, "Let's just get this over with."

Mr. Volker wasted no time in ushering her over to the blank wall. "Look this way, please, and smile," he commanded.

In a flash, Helga's scowl was recorded and frozen in time.

* * *

That afternoon, she sat in the Wilson Hill Auditorium waiting for her turn to read her poem. It was the first time she'd been in the large room, but it was pretty much the same as any of the other school auditoriums she'd been in. It might've been a little nicer, with slightly cleaner seats and a larger stage than normal, but it didn't really impress her.

"Are you nervous?" Arnold's voice came from next to her. After hearing about the tournament from Gerald, he'd offered to come and support them. The order of the readings had been randomized, but ironically, she and Gerald had been placed right next to each other. Gerald had just finished reading his poem, bowing at the end, and she was about to go.

"_No_, it's only a stupid poem," she said, although it was only partly true. She wasn't that nervous about simply reading the poem. That was embarrassing, but she could deal with it. There weren't that many people here, and none of them really knew who she was. What actually had a tight ball of anxiety churning in her gut was the fact that _Arnold_ was in the audience, and while it didn't actually say his name, he was the main topic of her poem.

Just then Gerald returned to them, giving her a pat on the shoulder as he passed. "You're up, Henrik," He reminded her, though she really didn't need it. Slowly she stood and made her way to the stage.

The panel of "unbiased judges" was made up of several teachers from the school, including Mr. Volker. From the center of the stage where she stood, she could see them in the back whispering among themselves. She took a deep breath, and stepped toward the microphone.

"_Oh, how I have seen_

_Your yellow petals bloom_

_Above budding leaves of green_

_That seek to fight the gloom."_

Her eyes scanned over the sparse audience as she spoke, hovering on Arnold a second longer than they should have.

"_You are the highlight of my hour,_

_You are the sunshine of my day;_

_The lone growing flower_

_In a field of decay."_

Helga bent at the waist just enough to be considered a bow, and left the stage. When she returned to her spot next to Gerald and Arnold, the former of the two was eyeing her suspiciously. "Nice poem, Henrik. Was it about anything or, _anyone_ in particular?" He questioned, and Helga squirmed a little.

"No," she lied, "This stuff just comes to me."

"I thought it was really good," Arnold said, oblivious, "How long have you been writing?"

"…a while," she said, pretending to be interested in the next poetry reader. The conversation died as the next contestant started, but Gerald continued to eye her until several minutes later.

When all of the contestants had read, he spoke. "I guess we'll see who goes onto the next round tomorrow," he casually stated.

"I guess so," she said, secretly hoping that she wouldn't.

* * *

That evening, she decided that if she was going into the second round, she wasn't going to be reciting a poem about Arnold. She was certainly capable of writing poems that weren't about him and her love for him; they just didn't come to her as easily. With all of the drama she'd been through recently, it should be _easy_ to come up with something. Feeling determined, she sat down on her bed with her notebook and began to brainstorm.

Four poems later and she'd made no progress. Somehow, she'd managed to work Arnold into every poem she tried to write. _This could be harder than I thought,_ she mused, and decided to give up for the moment. She looked up to see what her beloved Football head was doing.

He was sitting at his desk, (he was the only one who used the desks, but he always kept his stuff off the second desk anyway) reading his biology book. The corner of his mouth had turned down in a small frown as he studied the page. He was definitely studying hard, although he didn't seem to be enjoying himself…

"Why do you want to be a doctor?" She found herself saying. Arnold blinked and looked over at her, surprised by the question.

"Well…" he began hesitantly, "My parents were sort of doctors. They went around the world helping people, at least. I always hear about how they were such great people…" He'd stopped looking at her, choosing instead to observe the corner of his desk. "I think if I could be like them, I'd be doing pretty well with my life. I figure that the closest I'll ever come is if I become a doctor. Maybe I can never quite live up to what they did, but at least I can help people…" He drifted off into his own thoughts, looking troubled. She got the feeling that this was a tender topic and bit her lip, unsure of what to say. Before she could come up with anything, Arnold shook his head and turned back to her, smiling and obviously burying the thoughts that had troubled him. "What about you?" he asked, "What do you want to be?"

"I'm not sure," she said, a little thrown off by the question. "I definitely don't want to be like my parents, _that's_ for sure."

"Why not?" he inquired curiously, "What's wrong with your parents?"

She frowned. That was a question she'd have to answer carefully. "They wouldn't exactly win the 'best parents of the year' award."

"How so?" he pressed.

_Sheesh,_ she thought, _Mr. Nosy just doesn't give up, does he?_ She didn't want to straight up lie after he'd just been so honest with her. Maybe she could change things around a bit while still giving some sort of answer… "My… _father_, is usually too out of it to notice that I exist, and my _mother_ is always calling me by my… _older brother_'s name. To put the cherry on top, they're usually arguing too. I've pretty much raised myself." Bitterness crept into her voice and she glared at the floor.

"Huh…" Arnold said quietly and she looked up, surprised. She'd expected more of a response out of him. He _was _Mr. Sensitive, after all. He was looking at her with a confused expression, eyebrows squished together as if he were trying to figure something out. Maybe she'd said too much… But after a few seconds, he continued. "I bet they care about you, even if they don't show it."

His gaze remained on her, and she began to feel nervous. "_Maybe._ Whatever. What am I telling _you_ all this for, anyway?" she said, returning to her angry default and pretending to begin working again.

She felt his eyes linger on her before he finally shrugged and turned back to his homework.

* * *

When they checked the bulletin the next morning, they found (to no one's surprise) that both Helga and Gerald had made it to the next round. "Congratulations, you two," Arnold said and patted them both on the back. "Looks like you made it to the next round!"

"Great…" Helga mumbled as Gerald said "Thanks, man."

"So, Henrik," Gerald began as they headed toward breakfast, "What are _you_ going to write about for the next performance?"

"Haven't decided yet." She said shortly and folded her arms. That question hadn't been courtesy; he was inspecting her, trying to figure out what she was hiding. She needed something to throw him off… "What are you writing about?"

"I still haven't decided yet, either." He was sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eye. Obviously, that hadn't done anything to deter him. It had been a pretty poor attempt anyway.

Suddenly, she had a thought… "Hey, Gerald, I know what you should write about," she said innocently.

They had reached the breakfast buffet now, and he turned to look at her suspiciously. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"Why don't you write about all of the 'lovely ladies' that you were talking about the other day?" A sly smile formed on her mouth as she talked.

Arnold, who had been content to listen to their conversation silently until now, perked up. He turned to Helga and shook his head frantically. "No, Henrik, don't get him started!"

Helga ignored him. "Yeah, I think that'd make a _great_ poem," she encouraged with false sugar in her voice.

"I'm… not so sure…" Gerald said as he thought about it, "That could get a little bit _inappropriate_, if you know what I mean."

"Oh?" She asked all too innocently, "_How so?_"

"_Well,_" Gerald began in a cocky tone as they reached the table, "Since you asked, I'll tell you. When '_the ladies_' and I are involved, things usually tend to get a little _steamy_ pretty fast, if you know what I mean. So you can see how that probably wouldn't make a great poem, unless you wanted a poem about that feeling you get when you have a sweet, hot, _juicy_ mamma who's—"

"I am NOT going to listen to this while I eat lunch," Arnold interrupted, "So you're going to stop talking about this now."

Gerald sighed reluctantly. "Alright, alright, I know how much it bothers you…" _Darn it, Arnold!_ Helga thought, sending a quick glare his way while they weren't looking. If she just could've gotten Gerald talking a little more, he probably would've taken up the entire lunch period ranting about his exploits, letting "Henrik" fly completely under the radar. _Oh well, at least he seems distracted,_ she mused. "So what should we talk about?"

Arnold shrugged. "I don't know. Henrik, any ideas?"

Before she could respond, though, Gerald spoke up again. "Wait a second, you never told me what that kissing thing was about! Pay up, Arnold."

"Not _this _again…" she heard Arnold groan. Unbeknownst to him, she was having similar thoughts.

"Who'd you kiss and when'd you kiss her?" Gerald pressed, staring his friend down.

Arnold refused to look at him and watched his food instead. "Gerald, I _really_ don't want to talk about this right now," He said in a pleading voice.

"Just tell me who it was, and I'll drop it." Gerald attempted to bargain, "Would you really keep this from your best friend? Who was it, Lila?" _Lila?! _Helga choked on her food and went into a coughing fit. The two boys turned to stare at her, their faces a mixture of surprise and concern at her strange behavior.

Eyes watering as her breathing finally returned to normal, she cleared her throat. "Ah, I guess it was a bad idea to inhale that bacon…" she fibbed, her voice hoarse from coughing.

Gerald shrugged and continued to pester Arnold. "_So? _Who was it?"

Arnold crossed his arms, refusing to budge on the issue. "You know," he began as irritation leaked into his voice, "_I_ never insist on knowing about everyone _you_ kiss."

"Yeah, but that's different," he said waving the issue off, "You don't ever _want_ to hear about it. I'd tell you if you asked. So was it Lila?"

"Who is this _Lila_ person, anyway?" Helga forced herself to ask, trying to steer the conversation in another direction.

"She's just another girl from the school Gerald and I go to," Arnold casually explained, turning to "Henrik".

Gerald raised his eyebrows. "Wait, _another_ girl?" He looked from Arnold to Helga, and back to Arnold. "Just how many girls have you been talking to him about?! Did you kiss this one too?"

"It's really not that big of a deal…"The football head in question shifted uncomfortably. This was being blown _way_ out of proportion. "I just told him that he kind of looks like Helga." She felt Gerald's eyes on her again.

"Riiiight, _that_." She heard him say and looked around for an excuse to leave.

She knew she'd found one when she spotted the clock on the wall. "Oh, look at the time! I better go if I want a good seat in _Performance Poetry_," she said with faked eagerness and stood up to leave.

They watched him go in silence for a few seconds before Arnold turned and shot Gerald a look of reproach. "See what all that kissing talk did? You scared him away!"

"You still didn't tell me who that was, by the way." Gerald pointed out, ignoring his friend's accusation.

Arnold rolled his eyes and stood. "Let's just go to class." Gerald silently followed as his friend made his way to the door.

* * *

Helga glanced up to where Arnold was studying and began to chew on her pencil. She was supposed to be doing homework, but… there were some questions she'd just been _dying_ to ask him. It was little dangerous, but who wouldn't want to know, especially when given an opportunity like this?" "Hey, Arnold," she called out.

His head snapped up and out of his book. "Hmmn?" he hummed in answer.

"So I was wondering…" she began cautiously, "If I look so much like this '_Helga_' person," she made quotation marks with her fingers, "Why does it bother you so much? Do you… I dunno…" she tried to say the next part casually, "_like_ her or something?"

Arnold looked at the ceiling awkwardly, "Well, no, not exactly… she's kind of picked on me since we were kids. Don't get me wrong, she picks on everyone, but she's always had it out for me especially."

"Are you sure you don't just _think_ she picks on you more than everyone else?" she asked, still trying to sound casual.

"No, I'm pretty sure," he said confidently, "She once managed to hit me with 271 spitballs in one hour."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You _counted?" _

"It was sort of something I used to do to pass the time." He leaned back in his chair as he reminisced. "She would do it so often that well, I started to get curious at exactly how many she threw, so I started counting. When you really think about it, it's actually kind of impressive that she managed to throw that many and _never_ get caught for it. I mean, it was _annoying_, but also a little impressive."

Helga thought back to the memory with fondness and a little pride before steeling her nerves to ask the question she was so afraid of. "So… Do you hate her?"

Arnold blinked as if surprised by the notion. "No, I don't _hate_ her. She's just kind of a big bully, you know?"

_Hmmm… _Helga thought, _He hasn't spilled any juicy details yet… I've got to make him talk more._ "How so?" she asked, pretending to not understand, "Tell me about her."

"I guess you deserve to know, considering you look so much like her…" Arnold hesitantly began his description. "I've known her since we were little, and she's _always_ been a bully. She's got this blonde hair that she always wears in these pigtails with this bright pink bow… It's actually kind of funny, because you would've expected her to ditch the pigtails at some point, like when we started high school, but she never really did. She just started wearing them a little lower. A lot of people joked about it, calling her silly… until she threatened to beat them up, of course." Helga frowned. This wasn't the type of info she had wanted to get.

"Did _you_ think it was silly?" she couldn't help the question from slipping out.

"No, actually, I thought it was kind of… bold, in a way. I mean sure, the hairstyle was a little bit silly in a way, but apparently it was the one she wanted. And it was the one she'd _always_ had, so it was sort of like she was being true to herself. She never cracked and changed it, even when they pressured her to. I think there's something brave in that." A warm feeling spread over Helga's chest and she developed the urge to write some obsessive Arnold poetry again. The football headed boy shrugged, coming out of his thoughts. "Anyway, that's Helga for you."

Helga turned back to her homework, a small smile on her face.


	10. Slip of the Tongue

**A/N:**

Ok… so… this is a big one! I think it's the longest chapter yet. I'm not entirely sure how you guys will respond to this it. I kind of think you'll either really like it, or really not. Let's just say that it's got some… important things in it. You'll know what I'm talking about when you read it. I hope you guys DO like it though, and reviews are, as always, welcomed! You've all been so nice this whole time, and I really appreciate it! : )

Disclaimer: Hey Arnold belongs to someone else. Definitely not me.

**Chapter 10: **

**Slip of the Tongue**

Helga woke feeling distinctly brighter than usual. Today marked two full weeks that she'd been here and managed not to get discovered. After suffering through numerous close calls, she was beginning to feel pretty proud of herself. Arnold and Gerald still seemed none the wiser (although Gerald was suspicious, for sure), and she was even doing pretty well in the lame classes she'd been forced to take. For most of the week she'd managed to avoid Gerald's suspicious glances, mostly by coming up with distractions or using the usually clueless Arnold as a buffer.

She'd come up with a "non-Arnold" poem at the last second on Wednesday, and performed it on Thursday. It wasn't her best, but it was passable. The results came in Friday, and again both Helga and Gerald had moved on to the next round. Arnold had spent the weekend back in Hillwood again, and the few days Helga spent alone were blissfully uneventful. _Maybe I can actually pull this off,_ she thought as she rose to meet this new day and fell into her new routine: Eat Breakfast, avoid Gerald, go to class, eat lunch (while avoiding Gerald), finish class, take a shower before Arnold gets back, eat dinner, and try to not act _too_ suspiciously around Arnold for the rest of the evening.

Slowly, she began to let her guard down.

* * *

Helga was again lying on her bed, trying to write yet another poem that was NOT about Arnold, and having little success. She looked up to where Arnold was studying. He was looking out the window, staring off into space again_._ Lately it seemed that whenever he sat down to study he ended up gazing out the window, caught in his own little world… She'd also noted just how much effort he put into his schoolwork. He was always studying; it was no wonder he ended up zoning out.

It was obvious that he would rather be doing something else, so why wasn't he? She had to be here for her own safety; he didn't. So why even bother coming here in the first place? He'd said that he wanted to be a doctor and help people like his parents, but… somehow she couldn't imagine Arnold going to medical school and working in a hospital somewhere. It didn't seem right. She'd always been able to see the beautiful, limitless potential that lay inside of him. For him to simply become a doctor, curing some snotty nosed kid's sniffles… it'd be a waste of talent. He could do so much more…

So, despite the strong feeling that she should keep her mouth shut, she couldn't stop herself from speaking up. "Why are you even doing that?"

Arnold jumped a little, obviously taken out of his thoughts, before looking back to his book. "Because I have homework," He said simply.

"You're _always_ doing your homework," she pointed out irritably, "Why don't you take a break for once?"

"I can't take a break." He spoke without looking up from his book, "I have to study so that I can get a good grade in the class."

Helga sat up from her bed, twisting her pencil around her fingers to give them something to do. "Why is it so important to get a good grade, anyway?"

He let out a frustrated sigh and finally turned to her. "Henrik, I'm trying to study."

"And I'm trying to talk to you," she replied, not missing a beat.

"Is there something in particular that you'd like to know?" he asked. His calm demeanor held, but was beginning to show some irritation.

"Yeah, there is actually," She was telling herself to stop, to just quit now before something bad happened, but something inside of her was egging her on. "I want to know just what the hell is so important about becoming a doctor that you have to be miserable for it."

He frowned and crossed his arms. "I'm not miserable."

"Yes you are!" She shouted, throwing out her hands to gesture at him. "Look at yourself! Do you really want to spend the next, I don't know, _ten_ years staring into a book?"

"What I _want_ is to become a doctor like my parents." Arnold was noticeably irritated now, and she knew she should stop, but her mouth was running like a runaway train. Now that it was going, it would not be deterred.

"But your parents aren't here, Arnold!" Somehow she'd ended up on her feet and was now standing in the middle of the room. "Why are you so concerned with what they think?"

"Because they're my parents!" He shouted and turned back towards his books, as if he was really going to get any work done right now.

"Why should they _matter_ so much when you have so many other people who care about you? For crying out loud, football head, you've got an entire boarding house full of people who are crazy about you!" Her shout echoed in the small room. "Why can't you just be glad you _don't_ have a blowhard dad who can't even remember your name? Or a mother who's so drunk out of her mind that she probably can't remember ANYONE's name? Why can't you just be happy with your charming Grandpa and Grandma and… and…" She trailed off as she realized just what she was saying.

Silence fell over them as Helga slowly realized what she had just done. Arnold had gone still. Neither moved for several minutes, and it was so quiet that she could hear the ticking of his watch.

"I don't think I told you that I live in a boarding house…" she heard him slowly say, his back still turned to her. She could see the wheels turning in his football shaped head, almost hear the gears turning as he put two and two together.

Helga broke out in a cold sweat. She could think of nothing that would negate what she just said; that last rant of hers had just about served him her secret on a silver platter. Heck, mentioning the boarding house had been the least of her mistakes! _How_ could she have been so _stupid_?! _Just get out of there! _She shrieked in her head. _Leave before he can think about it!_ "W-Whew," She stuttered, laughing nervously and backing toward the door, "Is it hot in here or is it just me? I think I'll go get—"

"_Don't move."_

Something about the tone in his voice glued her feet to the floor. Slowly he turned around in his chair to face her. Her heart began to pound. She looked at his feet, too afraid of the expression that might be on his face. "_Look at me,_" he commanded, and she had no choice but to obey.

With the same deliberate slowness he'd used to turn, Arnold stood and walked toward Helga with narrowed eyes. Inside her head she screamed at herself to move but found herself pinned in place, frozen by the intensity of Arnold's gaze. He stopped when he was directly in front of her, close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her cheek. His left hand reached up to grasp her shoulder, and she prayed that he couldn't feel her racing pulse.

"Wh-what…" she feebly choked out as Arnold's right hand slowly moved up towards her face. She felt his fingers gently brush the hair over her ear as they passed. "…are you—"

Helga cut herself off in a small gasp as Arnold's hand fisted in the wig hair by her ear, and lifted it off of her head in one motion. Blonde hair fell to her shoulders as she stared at him, wide eyed. A thick silence weighed on them as he just continued to stare at her through those glaring eyes, the wig still in his hand.

This had to be a nightmare. Arnold couldn't have just pulled off her wig; he couldn't know! He would throw her out and then Danny would find her and kill her! But then, she wasn't waking up…

Finally he spoke. "What is going _on_ here, _Helga? _What are you even DOING here?_ Is this a joke to you?!"_ Helga tried to speak but her throat had gone dry and all that came out were strange croaking noises. "Dressing up as my _roommate? _What kind of _lunatic_ follows someone into _summer school_ just to play a stupid _joke_?!" His voice steadily rose in volume.

She managed to find her voice for a second. "Arnold, I can explain, if you just listen—"

Arnold cut her off. "Oh yeah? So now you're going to explain" he thrust the wig into her face, making her flinch, "_this?_ You want me to let you talk so that you can pull the punchline? No, Helga, I don't think so. You've pulled this crap my whole life but this—" he threw the wig down at their feet in a violent motion, "_This _is the _last straw!"_ He stomped around her and toward the door.

"No, Arnold, wait—please!" Helga stumbled after him, falling to her knees in the process. He ignored her and reached for the doorknob. "Please, please, _please,_ I'm begging you!" She desperately reached out and snagged his hand.

He ripped it away on the contact, shouting "_No!"_, but found himself looking back at her in the process. As he caught sight of the girl behind him, a wave of guilt spread over him and he instantly regretted his actions. She sat on her hands and knees where she'd fallen, a mess of blonde hair surrounding the face that looked up at him with such wide, terrified eyes. In all of the time he'd known her, he'd never seen Helga, the perpetual bully of his life, so distressed and helpless.

With a long sigh, he turned towards her. "Helga, I-I'm sorry I yelled so much. If you really have some kind of explanation for this, I'll… _try_ to hear you out." She blinked up at him, shaking slightly as she sat on the floor, and managed to nod. "You should probably get off of the floor first…" he said quietly, extending a hand to help her up. She took it, and they made their way to her bed.

Arnold sat at the end of her bed, arms crossed. Once she'd sat down as well, still shaking slightly, he addressed her. "Now, _what_ is going _on_ here, Helga? _Why_ are you dressed up like a guy?"

Helga took a breath to steady herself. "It's kind of a long story…"

Arnold glanced to his forgotten book and back to her. "Well, you have pretty much completely interrupted my studying, so I've got time. Now tell me what's going on."

She looked down at her feet as she talked, twiddling her thumbs. "…I guess it all started on the last day of school. I was walking home and when I got there, it looked like we'd been broken into… except the people who did it were still there. I sort of, um, ran into them, but I got away, and well… the short version is that one of them was a psychopath and wants to kill me now, so I'm disguised as a boy and going to summer school for my safety."

Arnold gave her a blank stare. "Right," he said and started to stand, "Well, I'm going to go turn you in now. I _knew_ this was a joke…"

Helga reached out and grabbed his arm. "No, Arnold, please!" she said frantically, "He'll kill me! I'm _not_ joking about this!"

He paused in his motion and gave her a skeptical look. "Do you really expect me to believe a story like that?" He huffed angrily and removed her arm from his. "And will you stop doing that voice?" he added after a second, "I already know it's you, Helga."

"I'm not _doing_ a voice," she said and reached back into her mouth. Arnold gaped at her bizarre behavior until she pulled out the small retainer. She held it out for him to see, and he eyed the strange object with curiosity. "_See?"_ she said, and then blinked in surprise. This was the first time she'd heard her voice at normal pitch in weeks.

"What _is_ it?" Arnold said, still staring at the retainer.

"It's something the police gave me to mask my voice," she simply stated, and offered to hand it to him. He shook his head quickly to decline; the retainer was still covered with her saliva. "I couldn't go the whole summer just doing a fake voice on my own. How believable would _that _be?"

Arnold stopped examining the retainer to look at her. His eyes began to widen. "You're… you're really serious about this, aren't you?" he said, shocked.

"Arnold, you and I have both seen some pretty crazy things in our time." Helga faced him directly, a serious expression on her face as she gazed into his green eyes. "Why is it so hard to believe that this could happen too?" She spoke the words soft and delicately, almost as if they'd break.

He looked away for a moment, taking in the information. _Could it actually be true…?_ It sounded so crazy! But then he looked up again, and that retainer was still there… "So…" He began slowly, "You actually have some psychopath after you?"

She nodded.

"And… you actually came here for your own protection? And not some joke?" He asked hesitantly.

She nodded again.

"Then…" he began to speak tentatively, "You really are just hiding here for your own safety, and the fact that we're roommates is just a coincidence?"

She rolled her eyes this time. "_Yes,_ Arnoldo, that's what I've been trying to tell you!"

He stared forward, a dazed look on his face. She began to feel worried when he didn't respond. "Dressing you up as a _guy_ and sending you to _summer_ school was _really_ their best idea?" he said suddenly, "They couldn't come up with anything _better?"_

Helga folded her arms and looked away uncomfortably. "It was the brainiac of a police officer's idea, not mine…"

He shook his head and turned to face her. "Why didn't you just tell me to begin with?!" He asked, slightly irritated and still somewhat in a state of shock.

"Well…" she began, feeling slightly embarrassed, "For starters, you probably wouldn't have believed me."

"I would've been more likely to believe you at the _beginning_ than halfway through the semester!" He pointed out, sounding a little angry. "And I'm believing you now, aren't I?"

"Yeah, right after you nearly sold me out," she spat back, sending him a glare. She shrank down a little before continuing, looking down to her toes again. "…and I knew you were such a goodie-two-shoes that you'd never lie about having a girl in your room."

Arnold gave her a look that seemed almost offended. "Helga…" he began slowly, tapping her shoulder to get her attention and looking her in the eye, "I'm not nine anymore."

She squirmed under his gaze. "What's that supposed to mean?" she huffed, being in no mood to decipher his cryptic statements.

"It means that I stopped thinking girls had cooties a long time ago," he said shortly before continuing, "Do you really think I'd send you out to get _killed_ just because I didn't feel comfortable sharing a room with a girl?" He gave her a long look before sending her a reassuring smile. She'd just begun to form a small smile of her own when his expression suddenly changed, eyes widening and glazing over. "I've been sharing a room with Helga Pataki for two weeks!" He exclaimed, looking horrified.

Helga raised an eyebrow. "You _just_ realized that, Einstein?"

Arnold shook himself out of his stupor. "It just… hadn't sunk in yet…" he said timidly and looked away, embarrassed. They sat together for a few seconds, neither knowing what to say, before Arnold's face blanked and he turned to look over at Helga. His expression quickly turned to one of accusation. "You said I had beautiful eyes!"

Helga felt her face heat up against her will and looked away. "S-so what? I was, uh, under a lot of pressure and something crazy popped out of my mouth. Big deal."

He gave her a skeptical look. "If you say so, Helga…" He was still in a bit too much shock to really argue. She was very grateful.

Again they were faced with an awkward silence. Eventually Helga turned to give him an expectant look. "What?" he asked.

"So?" she questioned nervously, "Are you going to tell?"

His face softened, and he sent her a comforting smile. "No, I won't tell," He assured.

"You realize that this means you'll have to lie about me, right?" she asked seriously, "Even to Gerald?"

He frowned at the last part. "For the most part I can probably just skirt around the issue, but if I have to, yes, I'll lie for you." Helga internally swooned a little at the statement (Arnold had just said he'd _lie_ for _her_!) before he continued. "But I'm sure Gerald would be trustworthy if we told him—"

"No," Helga said flatly.

Arnold tried again. "I'm sure he wouldn't tell, and he _is_ my best friend, so—"

"No," she said again in the same tone, "Gerald and I don't exactly get along the greatest, and maybe _you_ believe me, but I doubt _he_ would. He's already suspicious, and I really don't need him finding out about me too. The less people know about me, the better."

Arnold tried one final time. "Well if he's already suspicious—"

"_No,"_ she repeated, "I don't want anyone else finding out about this than necessary. Now, are you going to be able to keep it from Gerald?"

Arnold stared at her for a moment before nodding hesitantly. "I don't like it, but if you really think it's needed, I'll do it."

"Good," she said before another silence descended on them. They were both looking to their feet awkwardly when out of the blue, Arnold's shoulders began to shake. Helga looked up to find that he had his hand over his mouth, holding back laughter. "What's so _funny_?" She said defensively and crossed her arms.

Arnold dropped his hand from his mouth and went into full out hysterics. "Gerald…" he managed out before overcome by laughter again.

"What?" she asked, still feeling defensive, " 'Gerald' what?"

When he finally managed to regain some of his composure, he spoke. "Gerald thinks you're gay," he said, and started to chuckle again. "He said you had been 'smokin the salami'. "

Helga blinked a couple of times. "Oh," she said, surprised, before she began to snicker a bit as well. Before long, they were both laughing so hard their sides hurt. "_ 'Smokin' the salami'?"_ Helga managed out in between giggles, "Who SAYS that!" She fell back against her bed, clutching her stomach.

When their laughter had finally died down, Helga looked toward Arnold, who had also fallen backward during their fit of hysterics. "So are we good now, football head?" she asked, thoroughly enjoying being able to use her nicknames for him again.

Arnold nodded, a little leftover laughter bubbling up as he spoke. "Yeah, we're good."

"Good," she said, smiling at him before sitting up and standing to reach for her wig. He sat up as well, and looked perplexed at her actions.

"Why are you putting the wig back on?" He asked.

"Because without it any old fart can just waltz in here and clearly see that I'm not 'Henrik'. ", she said as she snatched the hairpiece from the ground.

"Oh," he replied, feeling slightly stupid.

He watched as she slid the wig over her head and tucked her blonde hair underneath. Helga caught sight of his wide eyed stare. "What?" she asked defensively.

"It's just… so weird to see you dressed up like that," he murmured.

"Arnold," Helga began incredulously, "in case you hadn't noticed, I've been wearing this stuff for weeks." She shifted uncomfortably until he finally looked away, blushing slightly.

"Yeah, but now I actually KNOW that it's you, for real," he explained, "Before you were just a strange guy who looked like Helga… Now you ARE Helga." He watched her carefully to see if she had taken offense to being called strange.

She didn't seem to notice, but spit out a witty reply instead. "Hate to break it to you, Einstein, but I was Helga _before_ you figured it out too."

He rolled his eyes. "I know that _now_, but I didn't before… And it was more of an educated guess, really…" he corrected, looking at her sheepishly.

She turned to look at him with eyebrows raised. "You mean coming up to me and taking the wig off was a _guess_?" she asked, slightly appalled, "What would you have done if you'd guessed wrong, pulled my hair out?!"

"Well, no, I mean, once I was pretty sure that it was you, I could tell that it wasn't your real hair." Was that a blush that was starting to form on his cheeks? eH

Helga kept a blank face, watching his strange behavior closely. "So this disguise has been fooling you for weeks, but now all of the sudden you could just _tell?_ Even if you were able to figure out that it was me, how did you know that I didn't cut and dye my hair?_"_

He shook his head. "You hair has a different texture to it. It just would've looked different if it'd been _your_ hair." His lame answer had her heart beating fast again. _Arnold knows my hair well enough to identify it even if it was dyed! _She rejoiced internally and reached for her retainer, trying to hide her blush.

"Wait," she heard Arnold say as she was about to pop the object back into her mouth. She looked at him questioningly. "As long as there's no one else here," he began hesitantly, "could you leave the retainer out? It just…" he scrunched up his face, "…sounds so weird now that I know it's you. I'm sure you could just put it in before you spoke if anyone came in here," he suggested at the end of his statement.

She blinked and shrugged, setting the retainer on her empty desk. "Sure, football head, if it suits your fancy…"

"Thanks," he said, a small but grateful smile on his lips. With nothing left to do, and feeling slightly awkward, Arnold stood up and tried to work on his homework again. The task proved to be very difficult, though, as his mind just refused to concentrate. _Did… did that really just happen?_ He couldn't help but wonder, and looked over to where his roommate was sitting… where _Helga_ was sitting… on _her _bed…

He shook his head, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and a little dizzy. "I think I'm going to call it a night," he said, finally giving up on his homework. There was no way he was going to get anything done after THAT had happened. He grabbed his things and went to the bathroom to change.

Helga was still in somewhat of a state of shock herself. She wasn't dead or even kicked out! How had she managed to pull _that_ one off? And Arnold knew. And he actually _believed _her, and agreed to keep it a secret! Obviously she wasn't out of the hot water yet; there was the rest of the school (which included Gerald) that she still had to fool. But still, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It hadn't seemed possible, but she'd actually found someone to share the burden with her…

Arnold felt distinctly more awkward as he walked out from the bathroom in his pajamas, knowing that it really was _Helga_ sitting in the other room. He couldn't help but glance at her every few seconds as he made his way to his bed. When he reached it, he pulled up the covers up to his chin, hiding the rest of his body from view. It wasn't like he was _naked_ or anything, but it still made him feel uncomfortable. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, but felt too vulnerable knowing that she could see him while he tried to sleep. He opened them and glanced to her. She was still sitting on her bed, staring off into space like she'd been when he first when into the bathroom.

Finally she blinked and took notice of him. "Oh, uh, I guess I should get ready for bed too, so you don't have to sleep with the light on…" Helga was so frazzled that she didn't even add a customary "football head" or "head boy". She stood up and entered the bathroom to change, only to realize that she'd forgotten to bring clothes and come right back out. She laughed nervously as she grabbed her clothes and went back into the bathroom, watching Arnold watch her and nearly tripping over a stray book in the process.

Once in the bathroom, she hurriedly dressed into her night clothes before turning to the mirror and preening herself. So she was dressed up like a guy; she still didn't want her beloved catching her with something up her nose, especially not now that he knew who she was. She spent a little extra time brushing her teeth than usual before she felt obligated to return to the main room. With how Arnold had handled this situation, and everything he had agreed to in the past hour, she was feeling a bit indebted to him and didn't want to make him sit out there with the lights on.

As soon as she was out, she flipped the light switch and stumbled to her own bed. Once settled, she sat there awkwardly, feeling considerably more aware of Arnold laying in the bed across the room than usual.

"So you're going to sleep in that wig?" Arnold's voice rang out through the quiet.

"Well, _yeah_," Helga said, directing her voice in the direction of his bed, "I've been sleeping in it for the past two weeks, haven't I?"

"Oh. I guess you have…" came his reply, "But now that _I _know and all, do you really think you have to? Do you actually think someone would come in here in the middle of the night?"

"Hey, it could happen," she supplied, "What if there was a fire? What then, _Arnoldo_?"

"I guess I never thought of that…" she heard him say softly. After a few seconds, he spoke again. "So I guess there isn't much point to asking how your summer is going, is there?"

"Ah, no, not really, Football Head." She said bluntly, thinking the question was a little odd. He let out a couple dry chuckles and she began to worry that maybe this whole thing had damaged his sanity…

"Didn't think so…" he drifted off, and she thought maybe he was done. Then his voice came again. "Why did you lay into me so hard earlier?"

Oh boy. That was a harder question to answer. "What's with the 20 questions all of the sudden?" she spat out, trying to throw him off.

"I think," she heard him say with an edge to his voice, "That since I'm lying for you, I deserve to know."

Guilt sprung up in her as she reluctantly realized that he was right. He _did_ deserve to know, but it was a bit complicated. She'd always known that he was destined to do great things, special things, things that were much more than being a doctor. Not that being a doctor was a _bad_ thing, but it certainly wasn't extraordinary, like she'd always known her beloved football head was… How was she supposed to explain that without sounding like a swooning idiot? With a gulp, she began, choosing the most benign and vague explanation she could think of. "I… think you could do better than becoming a doctor."

She heard Arnold give a short laugh. "Why Helga, I never knew you cared," he said sarcastically. Her face instantly lit up in a blush.

"I-I _don't, _I just… know potential when I see it." She stammered.

A set of low chuckles came from his side of the room. "Whatever you say, Helga."

After a few minutes of silence, she assumed that he had finished his line of random questions (which she _supposed_ he had every right to, considering that he'd only recently discovered who she was…) and began to try and at least make an attempt at sleeping. However, after only a few seconds of trying, Arnold piped up again. "So… uh… I know how you were doing the voice now, and the wig is for your hair, but, uh…"

"Quit yammering and cut to the chase," she snapped.

"How…" he paused, as if afraid to continue, but finished anyway, "…how did you hide the rest?"

_What does he mean, "the rest"?_ she thought before it hit her. _OH. _She felt her face heat up again. "Th-that's none of your business, football head!" she stammered out.

"Sorry!" came his instant apology, "I was just so curious, I mean I thought it would have been difficult considering the size of—uh, that wasn't what I meant, umm…" He really was doing nothing to help her blush go away. "I-I mean, what I meant to say is—"

"Football Head?" She interrupted, having heard this go on long enough and taking pity on him.

"Yes?" he nervously responded.

"Just go to sleep."


	11. Little Misunderstandings

**A/N:**

So as of the previous chapter, we have reached big plot twist number one! Arnold knows! I've been thrilled with the responses I've gotten from you guys! Thanks again for being so kind :-D Now, here is chapter 11! Enjoy! (hopefully!)

Disclaimer: Hey Arnold isn't mine, I promise! Don't throw me in jail!

**Chapter 11:**

**Little Misunderstandings **

With the reveal of "Henrik's" identity, a completely new tension settled over the pair. Despite the fact that they'd been waking up next to each other for weeks, the next morning felt like an entirely new experience.

Arnold stumbled out of bed, glancing at his sleeping roommate as he made his way to the bathroom. As usual, Henrik was still asleep… He'd gotten to the center of the room before he did a double take. That wasn't _Henrik_ sleeping in his roommate's bed, that was _Helga._ He blinked a couple times, letting his newly acquired knowledge sink in a little more. It was disorienting to realize that "Henrik" had never really existed. It had been Helga all along…

He shook his head and continued with his morning routine. Time didn't stop just because he was busy thinking. As he emerged from the bathroom, he ran into Helga groggily making her way toward it.

"Uh, sorry…" He mumbled and stepped aside to let her pass. Upon seeing him, Helga seemed to wake up fully.

"M-morning… football head…" she greeted, saying his "nickname" with caution. She eyed him like he was going to blow up or something as she passed. Once she shut the bathroom door behind her, he went over to his bed to wait. He heard the water start and his eyebrows rose in surprise. _This is the first time Henrik—I mean, _Helga_, has taken a shower in the morning, _he realized. Normally any showers she took were when he wasn't around. _I wonder if she felt too nervous to do it while I was here?_ His thoughts began to drift back over the past two weeks, and slowly he began to realize just how much effort she must have gone to in order to keep this charade going. And how many times she'd almost slipped up. He recalled how she'd called him "football head" this morning so hesitantly. Memories of "Henrik" stuttering and calling him "fool" came back to him, and suddenly it all made a little more sense.

At that moment, Helga walked out of the bathroom, the wig wet and fully dressed. When she saw him sitting there, she stopped and looked surprised. "You waited?" she asked.

"Well, yeah," he said, feeling a strange sense of deja-vu, "I have been for the past two weeks, haven't I?" He watched the corners of her mouth quirk up and realized just where he had recently heard that phrase. _"Well, yeah," _Helga's voice spoke in his head, _"I've been sleeping in it for the past two weeks, haven't I?"_ He shook his head to clear it and stood up. "Are you ready to go?"

She nodded and started walking toward the desk that had her retainer on it. "Yeah, just let me—"

_Knock, Knock._

Helga and Arnold both looked to the door and froze. "Hey!" A familiar low voice came from outside, "What's taking you guys so long? If you don't hurry up we're going to miss breakfast!"

"Act natural!" Helga whispered as she ran towards the desk.

"What was that?" Gerald asked from behind the door. "Why are you guys whispering in there? I'm coming in." In Helga's haste to grab the retainer she knocked it to the floor.

"We'll be out in a second, Gerald!" Arnold shouted, but the door was already opening. He stood up and stepped past Helga, trying to take some of the attention off of the girl as she patted the floor in search of the object. Gerald stood in the doorway, cocking an eyebrow at Arnold before leaning to the side and glancing at "Henrik".

"What's his problem?" he questioned, folding his arms.

"He, uh…" Oh no. Arnold had never been a good on the spot liar. "…he just lost his… um, lost his…"

Helga finally found the stupid object and popped it in her mouth, ignoring the hair and other debris that the retainer had picked up on its adventure. "…Lost my contact!" she finished, her head turned away so Gerald couldn't see. She stood up and dusted herself off. "Those little devils are slippery buggers, heh, heh," she laughed nervously.

Gerald glanced from Helga, to Arnold, and back. "…okay…" he said, obviously not convinced.

Arnold cleared his throat. "What are we waiting for? Let's… go eat!" He headed out the door and Helga followed close behind him. Gerald trailed behind them, eyeing the pair suspiciously.

* * *

No one spoke as they sat around the table, slowly consuming their breakfast, but a conversation appeared to be underway through their eyes. Helga was alternating between glaring at Gerald and sending Arnold meaningful but threatening looks, Gerald was glancing at both of them with wary looks, and Arnold was hopelessly caught in the middle, unable to really give either party what they wanted. "So… how about a game of racquet ball tonight?" he finally suggested in an effort to ease the tension.

"Fine by me, _Foot-"_ Helga took a split second to glance at Gerald and altered the rest of her statement, "f-foot_…footsie-boy,_" Arnold turned to look at her, a nervous glint in his eyes. Where had THAT one come from? "That is, as long as I don't get smacked in the head again by _someone's_ ball," she muttered indignantly.

Arnold grimaced at the memory. "Maybe racquet ball isn't such a great idea…"

"Hey, I didn't say that I wouldn't _do it_ or anything," she corrected, "I just think that your '_buddy'_ over there" she gestured with her thumb, "should cool it with the steroids before he turns that racquet into a weapon of mass destruction."

Gerald opened his mouth to defend himself, but Arnold beat him to it. "Gerald is NOT on steroids!" He exclaimed, outraged.

"That's right, I forgot," she replied in a fake apologetic voice, "Gerald couldn't _be_ on steroids or all of those 'lovely ladies' he's always talking about wouldn't be so happy. Oh, wait," she faked surprise now, "They _aren't,_ are they?"

"It's neither of our business what he does with—"

"Are you saying you _agree_ with his dating habits?" she interrupted.

"W-well no, I don't, but what he chooses to do in his spare time is _his_ business, Hel—" he quickly glanced to Gerald before correcting himself, "_Henrik."_

"And you're just _dandy_ with the trail of still beating hearts that he has mercilessly torn out from all of the women he's scorned?" she questioned, challenging him with a raised eyebrow. Gerald watched the exchange with curiosity. He knew he should have been more offended at this point, but after Arnold hadn't let him get a word in edge-wise several times now, the two people in front of him had become _a lot_ more interesting than defending his dignity.

"No," Arnold reluctantly responded, "But I'm not in his situation."

Helga turned to face him more directly. "And what would you do if you _were?_"

He paused, not expecting the question, and having long ago forgotten the third person sitting with them. "I probably wouldn't have gotten into his situation to begin with," he said, dodging the question.

"_Hypothetically, _then," she pressed, "If you and he switched shoes, _today_, what would you do to fix his mess? COULD you?"

He looked down to his food. "I suppose… I would probably try and find everyone that I'd hurt, and apologize to them… and then I'd just have to hope that they could forgive me."

She gave a short laugh. "Good luck seeing the brightside of _that_ situation, Mr. Optimistic."

The corners of Arnold's mouth tilted further downward. Why did Helga have to be so difficult? "Well, Gerald is a good guy, so I'm sure that eventually—"

"Hey, Guys?" Arnold and Helga both looked over as Gerald spoke, surprised to realize he was still there. "I'm right here."

Arnold looked to his friend in guilt. "I'm sorry, Gerald, I guess I kind of got so caught up in that argument that I forgot that you were here," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Never mind that," Gerald said, shaking his head. "Just tell me something." He looked between the two people in front of him. "Did something happen between you two that I don't know about?"

"_No!_" Helga and Arnold both exclaimed at the same time. Gerald cocked an eyebrow.

The two shared a look before Arnold spoke. "What, uh, what makes you ask that, Gerald?"

"First of all," his friend began coolly, "You guys are acting… _different _today."

"H-how so?" Arnold asked. How had Helga managed this for _two weeks_? He really wasn't cut out for lying…

"Well, for one, Henrik normally isn't this talkative, and—"

"So I felt like talking," Helga interjected, shrugging her shoulders, "Big deal."

"—_and,_" Gerald continued, "Normally _you_ aren't either." He pointed a finger toward Arnold.

"But I _do_ normally talk when we eat," Arnold pointed out.

"Yeah, but not quite this much, and usually to _me." _He pointed at himself now.

"I… guess I just felt like talking to Henrik this morning… that's not too crazy…" he feebly suggested.

Gerald put up his hands to stop any further excuses and continued with his reasoning. "_And,_ you sat next to _him_ today instead of _me."_ Arnold's eyes widened in surprise and he looked around himself. Indeed, he was sitting next to Helga and facing Gerald. He hadn't even noticed the change. "So mind telling me, your _best friend, _what you're hiding?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but could think of nothing to say. Just as he thought he'd have to come clean, Helga spoke up. "I don't know _what_ you're spouting, but I'm tired of listening to it." She put both hands on the table and stood up. "Come on, Arnold, let's go before we're late to class." With that she left the table and headed for the doors. Arnold looked toward Helga's retreating figure and back to Gerald's inquiring gaze. In fear of more questions that he couldn't answer, he chose to quickly follow after her.

"…I'll see you later, Gerald," he mumbled as he left.

Arnold jogged to catch up to Helga and fell into step beside her. He leaned over to whisper into her ear. "You should really try to act less like yourself."

"And _you_ should learn to be a better liar," she whispered back, "Crimeny Football Head, he was _already_ suspicious!"

"I think we _both _should take responsibility for what happened back there," he quietly muttered.

"Sheesh Arnoldo," she said, rolling her eyes, "You make it sound like you knocked me up or something…"

Arnold shook off the blush that tried to form on his face. "The point is that we _both_ need to pull our act together if we're going to keep your secret," he whispered as they reached the hallway junction that would separate their paths, "Would it really be so bad if Gerald—"

She turned to him in the center of the hallway and put both hands on her hips. "NO, Arnold, we're not telling him!" She growled out in a loud whisper. Her eyes shifted to focus on something behind him, and he watched her face blank. He twisted his head and had just caught a glimpse of Gerald walking towards them from further down the hall when she grabbed his shoulder to whisper into his ear. "Avoid him, and if you can't, then for heaven's sake, Arnold, _lie!"_ Upon finishing her hurried, quiet words, she gave his shoulder a slight shove and marched down the hallway. Arnold took one look at Gerald's approaching figure and set off in the other direction towards his own class.

* * *

Helga could feel Gerald's eyes burning a hole in her back during performance poetry. Just as she'd expected after that incident at lunch, his suspicious looks had returned with force. She tried to ignore them as Mr. Volker walked in.

"Today, class, we will introduce a new element to our performances," he announced, "Now, sometimes the aspiring poet wishes to take to the stage alone. This is all well and good, but a _shared_ performance can bring entirely new aspects. Therefore, you will be joining up with your classmates today and exploring the dynamic highs and lows of performing with a partner. To help us in this endeavor, we will be reading from William Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night._" Helga could only stare in disbelief. _Really? REALLY? A play about a woman who disguises herself as a man?! _She couldn't help but think to herself, sliding down low into her chair, _Is Mr. Volker psychic or something and determined to make my life miserable? _"I will be assigning you into teams of two, and each team will perform a scene from the play." He began to list off names of students in pairs and assigning scenes to read.

Helga waited with her eyes squeezed shut. _Please don't pair me with Gerald, Please don't pair me with Gerald,_ she chanted inside her head. Finally Mr. Volker arrived at her name. "Mr. Patterson…" he began slowly, scratching his chin and scanning the class with a hawk-like eye, "…please join Mr. Travers to read Act three, scene one beginning at Olivia's line '_Stay: I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me_'." She breathed a sigh of relief. Disaster averted.

Mr. Travers, who was a short pimple faced teenager, spoke up. "But Mr. Volker, you already paired me with Paul!" The student pointed at another boy sitting not too far away.

Her attention snapped back to Mr. Volker as he raised his eyebrows. "I would appreciate it if you did _not _speak out of turn, but it appears you are correct. Mr. Patterson, you will be with…" He appeared to scan his class roster, looking for a name that had yet to be called. "…Mr. Johanssen." _Just my luck,_ she thought. After Mr. Volker finished pairing the class up, he looked at them expectantly. The students sent a blank stare back. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get into your groups! You have five minutes before you perform!" He shooed them into action, gesturing with his hands for them to get moving. "And remember to play off of your partner; build off of each other's energy!" He added at the last second.

Helga reluctantly turned to face Gerald, who had moved to sit behind her. "Let's just get this over with," She muttered as she opened her book to the correct page. After examining the portion they were supposed to read for a minute, she sat up in surprise. The scene took place between two women, although one was disguised as a man, and illustrated part of a one-sided love story: Olivia (the one not in disguise) has fallen in love with the disguised Viola, thinking that she is a man. Well _this_ was going to be awkward.

"I'll play Olivia," Gerald said shortly.

"Doesn't matter to me," Helga replied, folding her arms and looking the other way. Both sat stiffly in their seats as an awkward silence descended on them. She could see him squinting at her through the corner of her eye. The students around them continued to prepare.

Finally, Gerald took a breath and began to speak. "That must be some secret you've got if Arnold's willing to hide it for you," he said slowly.

She did not turn to look at him, but continued to face away when she answered him. "I don't know what you're talking about," she lied.

Gerald opened his mouth to speak again, but Mr. Volker announced that their five minutes were up. "Do we have any volunteers before I begin selecting groups to read?" he asked, clearly not expecting any and looking forward to picking on his students.

Helga could feel Gerald's eyes burning yet another hole in the back of her head. "We volunteer," she said, pushing herself to a standing position and marching to the front. The sooner this was over with, sooner Gerald would return to his own seat and be farther away from her. Mr. Volker watched them with a mildly intrigued expression. Helga got the feeling that their performance of this scene would not be what was originally intended for it.

Although he was slightly surprised at going first, he followed her to the front and took his place beside her. After clearing his throat, he began.

"_Stay: I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me," _Gerald said in that smooth, musical voice of his, although there was an obvious angry undertone.

"_That you do think you are not what you are,_" Helga replied, not stumbling even the slightest at the tongue twister of a line. Her face turned smug.

"_If I think so," _He stepped toward her as if in challenge, speaking low,_ "I think the same of you._"

"_Then think you right: I am not what I am." _She turned to him as she spoke, folding her arms and glaring in response to his threatening tone.

"_I would you were as I would have you be!_" He was almost nose to nose with her now, eyes squinting in suspicion and his voice making an angry rhythm out of the line. The class was rapt with attention as they watched the duel that seemed to be taking place through poetic lines.

"_Would it be better, madam," _she stressed this last word as if it were an insult,_ "than I am? I wish it might, for now I am your fool._"

Gerald shoved her to the side, stepping in front of her and seeming to address the class.

"_O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful_

_In the contempt and anger of his lip!" _he guestured toward Helga with his thumb.

"_A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon_

_Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon." _He spoke the next lines in a mocking tone.

"_Cesario, by the roses of the spring,_

_By maidhood, honour, truth and every thing,_

_I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,_

_Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide._

_Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,_

_For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause,_

_But rather reason thus with reason fetter,_

_Love sought is good, but given unsought better." _

Helga pushed him out of the way and stepped in front of him this time to read her next lines, matching the anger in his voice.

"_By innocence I swear, and by my youth_

_I have one heart, one bosom and one truth,_

_And that no woman has; nor never none_

_Shall mistress be of it, save I alone._

_And so adieu, good madam:" _again she stressed the word,turning back to Gerald again,_"never more_

_Will I my master's tears to you deplore._"

She walked off to her seat as he finished his final lines.

"_Yet come again;" _his eyes followed her as she stomped away,_ "for thou perhaps mayst move_

_That heart, which now abhors, to like his love._" Left alone in front of the class, Gerald bowed and made his way back to his original seat.

Mr. Volker cleared his throat. "Well, that was, ahem, certainly an interesting twist on that scene. Now, do we have any more volunteers for the next group to go?" Helga zoned out as the rest of her classmates performed, glaring into the corner.

* * *

Helga was sitting on her bed, grumbling to herself and slowly tearing up an old homework assignment to bits when Arnold got back that afternoon. He saw her and stopped in his tracks. "What are you _doing?_" he asked, looking at her like she was crazy.

"Venting," she said shortly, "This school doesn't have enough dumpsters to throw rocks at."

She tore another small strip off the abused paper and he frowned. "Why do you need to vent?"

"_Because,"_ she ripped the new strip into smaller pieces, "As if being stalked by some psycho and forced to waste my summer going to school wasn't enough, now Gerald won't mind his own stinking business and leave me alone, so he's going to find out and blab, and then Danny will find me and _kill_ me, and I'll be dead!"

"Oh, it's not _that_ bad, Helga," he reassured her as he set his books down, "Even if Gerald _did_ find out, I'd bet he wouldn't tell." He paused then and shot her a confused look. "Who is Danny?"

"_Danny_ is the name of the _psychopath_ that _wants me dead_." She turned to meet his eyes. "Still say that it's 'not that bad'?" she challenged.

Arnold walked over to her bed, swept the scraps of paper off of her comforter, and dumped them in the trash. Then, much to her surprise, he grabbed her arm and stood her on her feet. "Ok, so it's a pretty bad situation, and I know that you don't trust Gerald like I do," he said as he let go of her arms, "But you don't have to face it alone. I'll help you, and I bet if you told Gerald about it, he'd help you too." He smiled as he finished, and she looked dazed for a second before blinking and putting a scowl back on her face.

"N-nice try, Football head," she stuttered and pushed him away, "But we're still not telling Gerald."

"I won't tell Gerald," he assured, "Now why don't we go play that racquet ball game so that you can vent _without_ wasting paper?" He led the way out the door, and after a few seconds she followed after him.

As they made their way to the racquet ball courts, a question popped into Helga's mind. In all of the drama, she'd forgotten to ask it… "Hey, Arnold," she nudged him with her elbow as they walked. "Why _did _you sit by me this morning?" There was a hint of nervous anticipation in her voice.

"I honestly don't know." Even he was confused by his own behavior. Why _had_ he sat by her instead of Gerald? He'd thought about it this morning and not gotten anywhere. There had been no real _reason_ for him to, nor had he had any conscious thought about it until after it'd been brought up. "I didn't even realize that I was until Gerald pointed it out." Their conversation stopped as Gerald came into view.

"_Try_ not to blow it this time," Helga whispered as they approached. He nodded to her, feeling slightly more nervous, and waved to his friend.

"Let's get this game started," Gerald announced, a smile on his face. He gestured to allow Helga to enter the courts first. She eyed him as she passed, suspicious at his friendly behavior, but went in anyway. Arnold moved to follow, but Gerald caught his arm and pulled him to the side.

"Ok, Arnold, fess up." Gerald's smile was gone, replaced by a determined look. Arnold glanced to the door, desperate to escape before he messed up and spilled the beans, but Gerald moved to block his view. "What happened between you two?"

Arnold gulped and looked away. "…I don't know what you're talking about…"

His friend was undeterred. "I've been your best friend for a very long time, Arnold. Do you really think I can't tell when you're lying?"

"W-what?" He made a pitiful attempt to sound shocked. "I'm not lying… nothing happened…"

"Come on, I know he did something." Gerald was beginning to get impatient, nervously glancing at the door, but he quickly looked back to scrutinize the teenager in front of him. "What'd he do?"

"I already told you, Gerald, Nothing happened!" Arnold raised his voice a little, hoping that Helga would come out to rescue—err, _check_ on him.

His face turned compassionate and he placed a supportive hand on Arnold's shoulder. "It's okay to tell me, man," he said kindly, "I won't think any less of you if he did something."

Ok, now he was confused. Why would Gerald think less of him? "…What are you talking about?"

"You can tell me, seriously man! What'd he do? Did he…" he paused, looking to both sides and continuing in a hushed voice, "…did he try to kiss you or something?"

Arnold blinked. _THAT_ was what Gerald was getting at? "Well…" he thought aloud, remembering at least three incidents from elementary school, "I guess that _has_ happened several times before…"

"I KNEW it!" Gerald shouted, earning startled looks from several of their peers as they walked passed. "I _knew_ he was jonesin' for you! I _told_ you he played for the other team!" He exclaimed, slightly more collected this time, before his head whipped back around to face his friend. "Wait…" he said, scrunching his eyebrows together, "…did you say it's happened _several_ times before?" Arnold opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find any words.

"Is that why you've never…? Are you… are you and he…?" Gerald failed to form a complete sentence, and Arnold looked at him in confusion for several seconds before it sunk in.

"NO!" he shouted, "I like _girls,_ Gerald, you know that!"

"Then why did he _kiss_ you _several times_?!" Gerald demanded. He appeared to be quickly becoming hysterical.

"I don't know!" Arnold answered truthfully.

"Arnold, he called you 'footsie-boy'!" Gerald's wide eyes stared him down, demanding the truth.

"So?" Arnold choked out.

"Well were you playing footsie with him?"

"NO!"

Gerald backed up and tried to look at Arnold with a calm expression, but it mostly came out looking extremely uncomfortable. "…I told you, man," he squeaked out, "You can tell me. I won't think any less of you if you're… g-gay."

Arnold tried to swallow his mortification as the misunderstanding quickly escalated out of proportion. "I _promise_ you Gerald," he dictated slowly, putting his hands up to stress the statement, "I am NOT gay."

"Then why—"

"What's taking you chuckleheads so long?" Helga interrupted, appearing in the doorway. Arnold did not fail to see the questioning expression she sent his way.

"Gerald just wanted to… ask me something," Arnold stiffly answered. He felt his face heat up. "We're coming now." Gerald was standing in the middle of the hallway, eyes still hilariously large, so Arnold had to give his arm a quick tug to get him to follow. He jumped a little, but appeared able to walk. Once inside, Arnold addressed Helga. "I think it'd be best if Gerald and I played on the same team today."

Gerald jumped at the words. "I'm not playing for the same team!" he shouted.

There was a pause as both Arnold and Helga looked at him like he was crazy. "…_okay_, you can be on Henrik's team," Arnold finally answered.

Gerald blinked and glanced between the two teenagers. "O-oh, you mean…" He finally seemed to come out of his stupor and realize just what "teams" they were talking about. "…oh, uh, yeah, right… I'll play on… Henrik's team then…" He dazedly walked over to his place, and the game began.


	12. Old Wounds

**A/N:**

Hey guys! So this chapter is mostly on time, but it's possible that the next one might be a little late. It depends on how fast I'm writing and if I get stumped on anything. And how busy I am over the next couple of days, of course. You're reviews are still wonderful, by the way! Feel free to keep them coming : ) On that topic, there have also been a couple of questions about Danny Usher. Rest assured, he will be back at some point… When and how that is, though, I'm going to keep quiet for now. ;-)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold

**Chapter 12:**

**Old Wounds **

The game ended almost as quickly as it'd started, as Gerald wasn't really playing. Helga and Arnold shared a glance, and he let her win just to get it over with. As it wasn't yet dinnertime, they headed back to their rooms. Arnold had to shepherd Gerald along until finally he began to follow on his own. When they reached their room, Helga entered first, shooting him a threatening glance before she left.

Arnold stepped in after her, leaving Gerald alone in the hallway (he still looked pretty unresponsive), and began to shut the door. His friend snapped out of his stupor just enough to snag the door before it closed.

"Hey," he leaned in and whispered, "Do you need me to, uh, _supervise?"_

"I already told you, Gerald," Arnold hissed out, "I am NOT gay!"

Gerald shook his head quickly from side to side; his face was slowly beginning to go back to normal. "No, I believe you, man," he replied, to Arnold's surprise, before he added, "…I think…"

Arnold rolled his eyes and tried to shut the door again, which Gerald promptly caught. "I mean, do you want me around in case _he_ tries anything?"

Arnold gave him a blank, half-lidded stare. "Thanks, but I think I'll be fine." He began to close the door again. "Bye, Gerald," he said as his friend's face disappeared from view.

"You know where I am if you change your mind!" he heard him say as the door clicked closed. He shook his head as he listened to the footsteps disappear down the hallway. When he turned around to face his room, he found Helga standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips and tapping her foot. She looked furious, but he could tell that underneath the angry mask she was really very nervous.

"Well?" she demanded, "Mind _explaining?"_

"It's really not what you think,"he said as he walked over to his desk and sat down.

"Well what _is_ it?" she asked, more nervousness creeping into her voice. "Did you tell him?"

"No, I didn't tell him…" He looked up to her nervous face. "He… he still thinks you're gay."

Her face scrunched up in confusion. "Then… what were you two talking about before the game?"

Arnold heaved a weary sigh and placed his head on his hands. "He seems to think _I'm_ gay now, too."

Helga couldn't help the snicker that escaped her at his response. "How did THAT happen?"

"…I told him that you'd kissed me several times…" The snickering stopped at his quiet response. Had Arnold been looking up, he would've seen her amused smile be wiped off of her face.

"W-why did you say that?" he heard her ask.

"Because he asked if you had 'tried to kiss me or something'," he made quotation marks with his fingers and turned to look up at her, "And because it's true." He held her gaze, waiting for her to deny it, but she could only look back at him as a tense silence fell upon them. Neither spoke. Arnold was treading on taboo topics, and they both knew it.

For years they'd had a silent agreement not to bring up some topic involving her odd behavior, and for the most part he'd stuck to it. He never questioned the things he'd half heard her say behind garbage cans, the way she always seemed to pop up next to him from odd places (he recalled her falling out of a tree behind him once, or that other time she'd been on his fire escape in the middle of the night…), the strange looks he occasionally caught her giving him… or that confession on top of the FTi building which she'd so readily denied after… Some part of him had noticed all of her strange behavior, but he'd always turned a blind eye to it in the past. All of his confusion and any small, nagging suspicions that came to his mind were all buried in the back of his mind. He never would have gotten anything out of her if he'd asked, anyway.

But now… now, for the first time in his life, he had the power. She couldn't run away, or make good on any threats to beat him up, because _he_ had a threat of his own. By keeping her secret, _he_ controlled the situation. For a brief moment he considered confronting her, bits and pieces of suspicion becoming unearthed in the soil of his mind… But then he pushed them away. Now was not the time.

"Maybe we can use this to our advantage," Arnold suggested at last, breaking the silence.

She folded her arms and eyed him warily. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you tend to act a little bit too much like yourself," she shot him a glare but he just continued expanding upon his idea, "and you already said he was too suspicious… so maybe if he thinks you're actually gay, we can throw him off the trail a little bit."

"I suppose…" she said, reluctantly agreeing, "But if this goes wrong I'm blaming _you_, head boy."

It was an empty threat, so Arnold just rolled his eyes and turned to one of the many books on his desk, hoping to get a little studying in before dinner. "Whatever you say, Helga."

* * *

Helga watched as Gerald glanced between she and Arnold while they ate their dinner. It was almost comical how uncomfortable he looked, fidgeting like that, but mostly she was just glad that he was off of her tail for now. Sure, he was still giving her weird looks, but this time she wasn't the only one. She chuckled as she noticed just how _Arnold_ was taking this as well. By the look on his face, he wasn't quite as uncomfortable with the situation as Gerald was, but he was getting close. _Serves him right,_ she thought, _he got us into this situation with that whole 'kissing' comment, anyway…_ Come to think of it, Arnold had been getting very bold as of late. First he took off her wig, and then telling Gerald about that kissing stuff? And almost confronting her about it? It wasn't like she could deny it. Her heart had almost stopped when she'd seen that dark glint in his eye. If he had pushed the issue, she would have been completely up the creek. If only she could get back at him for scaring her like that… An idea popped into her head and a wicked grin spread across her lips. It was a little risky, but Gerald already thought she was gay… and Arnold _had_ said that she should use it to her advantage…

"So how are you this fine evening, Gerald?" Helga asked a little too sweetly. Gerald jumped and looked at her with wide eyes.

"I'm… fine," he squeaked out, obviously thrown off by being addressed by her.

"I just had to ask because I know that _Arnold_ and I," she playfully stole a French fry from his trey, "are just having such a _delightful_ time." She let out a girl-ish giggle that sounded very strange coming from her lower than normal voice. Gerald's eyes got wider, if that was possible.

Arnold gaped at her for a second before clearing his throat. "Hey, Henrik, remember _that thing_ that I told you earlier?" So he'd caught on already? _That was quick,_ she thought, keeping a fake flirty smile plastered on her face.

"Why, I don't know what you could possibly be referring to…" she said, making sure Gerald was looking and batting her eyes at him.

"Then I should _remind_ you…" Arnold said, standing up from the table and snagging Helga's arm. He looked to Gerald, who was still to weirded out to care, and came up with a quick excuse. "I just need to have a word with _Henrik_…" he said, sending a glare to the person in question and dragging her off to a corner.

"_What_ are you _doing?" _Arnold hissed at her once they were out of hearing range.

"Well you _said_ that we should use this to our advantage," she pointed out, pretending to not understand why he was mad, "I was just playing the part."

He frowned at her. "Just… try not to be too over the top, okay?"

"Sure, whatever," she said casually, shrugging her shoulders, "You're the one who's pulling me into corners for _private conversations_. I can only imagine how _that_ looks…"

"Please don't make the situation worse than it already is," he pleaded, lowering his head and looking up at her. "You're not going to be helping yourself any by pulling a prank…"

"Don't worry so much, football head," she whispered as she began to walk back to the table, "Lighten up." She gave him a pat on the back before returning to her seat. The flirty expression instantly returned to her face. "So anyway, Gerald, since Arnold," she reached over and ruffled his hair, "and I were having _so _much _fun, _why don't you join us after dinner?"

Gerald made eye contact with Arnold, who was frowning because of Helga's latest antic, but shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't sure what she was trying to do, but it seemed mostly harmless…

* * *

Once they'd all arrived at their room, Helga excused herself to the bathroom. With the door closed, she could hear Arnold and Gerald quietly talking in the other room. It'd been several minutes since she'd said or done anything that remotely sounded like she was hitting on Arnold, so Gerald had finally begun to calm down. Now would be the perfect time to pull something really out there… She spotted a partially damp towel lying on the bathroom floor. _Perfect, _she thought and rubbed her hands together in fiendish delight at her plan. This would both get back at Arnold, _and_ weird Gerald out enough that he'd be sure to not bother her for days!

She snatched up the towel and pretended to be drying her hands on it when she walked out. After she sat on her bed, casually setting the towel next to her, she took note of the positions of everyone in the room. Arnold was sitting backwards in his desk chair, and Gerald had settled on Arnold's bed. They were talking about something Gerald's brother had done when he'd been at college; she wasn't really paying attention. She grabbed her notebook and pretended to be working on something.

After a few minutes, she intentionally fumbled with her pencil and let it fall to the floor. "_Oops,_" she exclaimed, "Oh, Arnold, could you get that for me? My back hurts after all of that racquet ball…" She pointed to the fallen pencil and rubbed her supposedly sore back. Arnold frowned, obviously suspicious, but stood up and bent at the waist to get it anyway. Helga made sure that Gerald was looking before snapping the partially damp towel against Arnold's backside.

"Ah!" He jumped and skirted away from her. She just giggled and batted her eyes again.

Gerald's mouth fell open. He quickly stood up and started backing up towards the door. "I, uh, have to go… finish some homework," he mumbled before he turned to run out of the door. As soon as it closed, Arnold whipped around to face her. He found her laughing her head off.

"What was that!?" He demanded over her laughter.

"Calm down, football head, I told you that I was just playing the part," she breathed out as her chuckles died down, "If it also happened to be hilarious, so be it!"

"But you made Gerald _really_ uncomfortable! He actually _left!_" He gestured to the door, "Not to mention that you made _me_ uncomfortable!" he shouted.

"Oh, put a sock in it, it wasn't that bad," she said, waving it off, "And Gerald can get over it; it's his fault for being such a homophobe anyway." She folded her arms and sat down on her bed, "I don't even know why you're friends with the creep," she added after a second.

The corner of his mouth turned farther down and he squinted at her. "Why do you dislike Gerald so much?" he asked.

"Because he's a womanizing pig, that's why," she replied simply.

"I get the feeling that it's more than that," he said, watching her intently, "I think it's something more personal."

She rolled her eyes. _Of course_ he'd think it was some deep personal problem. Next he'd be trying to talk her though it so he could fix it. Classic Arnold. "_I _think it's because he's a womanizing pig. Sheesh, Arnold, not _everything_ can be fixed by a heart to heart."

There was a pause in which he continued to stare at her, but she ignored him, figuring that he'd lose interest soon. But then he spoke. "It has something to do with Phoebe, doesn't it?"

Helga just blinked at him for a couple seconds, astounded. Well… _damn._ That was about ten times as astute as he was usually. She folded her arms and shot him a glare. "If it did, it wouldn't be any of _your_ business, would it?"

A thoughtful look came to his face and he cocked his head to the side. "How about we make a deal?"

"What kind of deal?" she asked suspiciously.

"If you tell me the whole truth about why you dislike Gerald so much, then I'll tell you the whole truth about one topic of your choice." He raised his eyebrows at her, asking for her verdict.

Helga mulled it over in her head. An opportunity to ask Arnold anything she wanted? _Anything _she wanted? And all she had to do was explain why she didn't like Gerald? Now _that_ was very enticing indeed… But she couldn't let him know that. "I _guess_ I can agree to that, not that I'd ever want to know anything about geek bait like you… But if _I'm_ spilling, then so are you. And I need a little insurance that you'll back up your end of the deal."

Arnold stuck his hand out to her. "You have my word. Deal?"

"No can do," she said, waving a hand through the air, "Your word doesn't mean squat. There's no guarantee that you won't back out." That was a lie if ever there was one. If he gave his word, it was almost a law of nature that he'd see it through, and she knew it. However, that didn't mean that she was above milking the situation for all it was worth. "I need something more… solid… something that you'll miss if you back out…"

"Like what?" he asked, as innocent and oblivious as ever. She scanned the room, searching for something that would work…

"How about…" She tapped her chin in thought. Her eyes were drawn time and time again back to her beloved before they fell upon his hat. "…I keep _this_ for a while?" In a flash she stood up, snagged it off of his head, and sat back down with it.

"My hat?" he asked, sounding strangely lost and patting the empty spot on his head. "But… I _need_ my hat. It's almost like …a part of me…" Upon seeing his expression, she began to feel a little bad, but she couldn't really go back now…

"Oh, you'll be fine," she said, spinning the hat around her finger, "I'll give it back once you hold up your end of the bargain."

He sent a longing look to the hat. "Could you use something else?" he pleaded. Ok, now she _really_ felt bad, but the point of no return had long passed.

"Those are my demands, take it or leave it. Now do we have a deal or not?" She raised an eyebrow at him in question.

After one last look at his hat, a slowly nodded. "Okay…" he said reluctantly and stuck out his hand again.

She reached for his hand, but paused. "One more thing: If I tell you about this, you will speak of it to NO ONE, am I clear?" She gave him a stern look before he answered. After all, what she would be telling him most likely would have to do with highly sensitive information about her best friend.

He nodded in assent. "I can do that, if you'll do the same for me." She cautiously took his hand, and they shook on it.

"So what do you want to know?" she asked as he walked over to sit on his own bed, facing her. While his back was turned, she gave his hat a good sniff. _Ah,_ she rejoiced inside her head, _Now THAT'S the good stuff! _

"I thought that was already decided," he said, "You were going to tell me about why you dislike Gerald so much."

She flopped back against her bed and began to examine her nails. "That's a pretty complicated issue," She smiled slyly at her own evasiveness, "You'll have to be more specific than that."

"Okay…" he thought for a moment, one finger on his chin. "Tell me how Phoebe works in."

She scowled at the ceiling. "I thought you would've been able to figure that one out on your own. Phoebe has been my number one since preschool, and he hurt her."

"Well that's not very in depth," Arnold complained, "The deal was for the _whole_ truth, Helga."

"Alright, _fine,_" she reluctantly agreed, "I'll get into all of the juicy details if that's what you want. But you better give me some darn fantastic stuff when I get my portion of the deal," she let out an irritated huff, "I don't know why you're so interested in this anyway; you were _there_ after all…"

A confused look crossed his face. "I was?"

"Well _yeah,_ the four of us have only been going to the same school since we were five…" He didn't respond, so she took a deep breath and looked for somewhere to begin. "You must've noticed that they used to have a thing for each other."

"Who?" he asked, "Phoebe and Gerald?" She rolled her eyes. There he went again, being completely oblivious.

"No, Rhonda and Harold." She looked over at him and realized he had missed her sarcasm. He was again looking very confused. "_Duh, _Phoebe and Gerald! Anyway, they used to have a thing for each other, and if you weren't so _blind, _you probably would know this already. I know that she used to… like him, a lot. I _thought_ that he did too. It was kind of obvious. Didn't you ever notice that they went to all of the dances together? Or how they always ended up sitting together, or walking off together _holding hands_? Or how they'd get all quiet and timid around each other? I'm pretty sure that they even went on a couple of dates… Sheesh, football head, where were you when all of this happened? It went on for years!"

A moment passed in which he realized that she actually wanted them to answer. "I kind of thought that there was something going on with them, but I think a lot of it went over my head…"

She shot him a disbelieving expression. "Gerald _never_ mentioned _any_ of this?"

"Well… no, not really…" he admitted.

Turning back to the ceiling so she could glare at it some more, she began to grumble under her breath. "That little scum-sucking piece of—"

"_Helga,_" Arnold interrupted, "Continue, please?"

"You should already know the story," she evaded, not looking forward to the story she was about to tell, "Especially this part."

"It was a while ago," he said shortly, "Refresh my memory."

She let out a reluctant sigh and quietly continued. "I know she didn't tell me everything, but they were really close in middle school… Heck, towards the end there she was spending more time with him than with me. And then that soulless hunk of flesh that you call a 'best friend' screwed it all up."

"That's kind of harsh, don't you think?" Arnold asked, "I mean, I always thought it was more of a mutual thing."

"_No,_" she growled out, "That was _sunshine and daisies_ compared to what I _should_ call him! And it was NOT a 'mutual thing'."

Arnold's face lit up as a memory hit him. "But it must've been a mutual thing! I remember now; he asked _her_ out, and _she_ said no!"

Helga sat up, planted her feet back on the ground and faced him, death glare in place. When she spoke, however, her voice was disturbingly cheery. "And you wanna know _why_ she said no?"

He was almost afraid to ask, but he did. "W-why?"

"_Because,_" the cheery tone to her voice was now replaced with a murderous one, "He'd just finished _sucking _the_ face_ off of some other chick! Of _course_ she said no; after that _stupid_ survey of Rhonda's he was dating just about every skeezy low-life possible, and _Phoebe_ is as far as you can get from skeezy low-life! It was an insult to her that he even asked! And did he ever _apologize_ for ripping her heart out and tearing it to shreds? No! All he's done since dropping Phoebe like a rock is follow the freakin' compass in his pants. And the jerk hasn't even tried to hide it, either. She's had to watch this whole time while he makes out with floozies in the corner. And yeah, it's been a while, but…" She sighed bitterly, "…I think it still hurts her..." Her rant trailed off into silence. "Did you honestly not remember all of that?" she asked once she'd collected herself a little.

"I remember some of it," he was looking off to the side, a slightly ashamed expression on his face, "but I never realized how badly that he hurt her… or you…"

"Yeah, well," she crossed her arms, "If you mess with Helga G. Pataki's best friend, you're going to make one heck of an enemy. So have I successfully enlightened you to your best friend's black heart?"

Arnold frowned, but looked up to meet her eyes boldly. "I know that Gerald is no saint, but I _also_ know that deep down he's a good person." He put his hand up when she tried to argue. "And as his best friend, I think _I _can probably tell a lot better than you can. I understand why you don't like him, but there's a lot more to him than just his flaws. Everyone makes mistakes; he just… made a really big one. I hope that someday he fixes it." Helga scoffed at his response and turned her face away to glare at the corner. Arnold watched her, and after a moment, he spoke again. "Not that it really matters now, but if I remember right, Gerald was really upset when Phoebe turned him down. I think that might be part of the reason he is the way he is today," he finished softly.

"Whatever," she grumbled, "The damage was done a long time ago."

"He really is a good guy, he's just misguided… I think it happens to a lot of guys during middle and high school," he said absently, staring somewhere over her shoulder with pity shining in his eyes.

The words were out before she could stop them. "It didn't happen to _you." _

He blinked and his eyes came back into focus, landing on her. For a moment, a small spark of intrigue lit behind those green orbs of his. Her heart began to beat a little faster in the lingering silence.

Then he took a breath and shook his head, and the moment was gone. "So that crazy stuff earlier was all because of this grudge you've been holding against Gerald for hurting Phoebe?" he asked.

"Well having a grudge against him didn't _help,_ but mostly I just wanted to see the two of you squirm," she said bluntly.

"How nice of you," he sarcastically remarked and began to stand and turn away.

"Hey," she said, getting his attention, "You've got to admit that it was pretty funny."

"It really wasn't that funny, Helga," Arnold replied, still slightly irritated.

"Oh come on," She flung a hand out in an expectant gesture, "Did you _see_ Gerald's face? His eyes got so big I thought they were going to fall out of their sockets!"

The corner of his mouth quirked up a little. "Ok," he admitted, "Maybe it was a _little_ funny. But if you ever decide to pull a prank like that again, try not to go overboard with it."

She snorted. "Glad to hear that I have your permission now, herr fuhrer."

Arnold rolled his eyes and couldn't help cracking a smile. If you weren't busy being offended by it, she had a pretty impressive sense of humor. "So what are you going to ask me?" he questioned with every intention of holding up his end of the bargain and getting his hat back.

She smirked at him. "Oh, you'll find out eventually," she taunted, "_I'm_ not wasting my question on a silly thing like how you feel about Gerald. I'm saving it for later after I've had time to think long and hard about how best I can use this."

"But that wasn't part of the deal!" He objected.

"It is now," she said, cracking her knuckles and leaving no room for argument.

"What about my hat?" He asked, again sending the object a longing glance.

She shrugged. "You'll just have to live without it for a day or two," she casually responded and tucked the hat into her pocket. So it was a little mean, and she felt a little guilty, but it wasn't like he'd be separated from it forever. Once she figured out what she wanted to ask him, she really would give it back…

He sighed and couldn't help feeling nervous at the mischief that was gleaming in her eyes. There would be no point in arguing with her. "We should probably do something about Gerald…" he murmured, "You really freaked him out, and we can't just let him think you're some creep for the rest of the semester…"

"Why not?" Helga inquired. "We can't tell him what's really going on, and now he'll stop being so suspicious around me all of the time."

He cocked his head to the side in thought for the second time that evening.

"I think I have an idea on how you can make it better, anyway…"


	13. An Explanation or Two

**A/N:**

That's right, it's update time! Sorry that this one was a little slow in coming. I got caught up to where I'd written to, and then I ran into a couple sections that were sort of hard to write… My mind has just been on later parts of the story, so I had to force myself to sit down and focus on this part. Hopefully you'll like it though, so without further ado… Here is chapter 13!

Disclaimer: I do not not not own Hey Arnold.

**Chapter 13:**

**An Explanation or Two**

"I can't believe you're making me do this."

Arnold gave Helga a reassuring smile as they made their way to the cafeteria the next morning. "It'll be fine," he said, giving her a pat on the shoulder. She batted his hand away.

"You know, this is probably going to make all of the progress I made yesterday getting him to back off null and void…" Helga grumbled.

"You'll feel better after you do this," he encouraged, still smiling at her.

"More like _you _will feel better. _I _didn't feel bad to begin with!" she pointed out irritably.

Gerald wasn't waiting just outside the cafeteria like usual. Instead, they found him sitting alone at a corner table. When he saw them approach, he noticeably stiffened and he even looked a little scared. Helga's little prank must've really gotten to him, just as Arnold had thought.

"Hey, Gerald," Arnold cautiously greeted his friend as they reached him. "I think Henrik has something to tell you…" He looked to her and waited for her to begin. When all she did was glare in the other direction, he elbowed her.

"Ow," she grumbled, sending him a glare and rubbing her arm before reluctantly turning to face Gerald with an impatient look on her face. "Mr. Goodie two shoes over here wants me to…" she searched for an appropriate word, "_…inform_ you that I _maybe_ wasn't acting exactly appropriate yesterday evening."

Arnold crossed his arms and sent her a meaningful look. "Is there anything _else_ you want to say, _Henrik?"_

Helga let out a frustrated sigh and rolled her eyes. "And I'm sorry if I freaked you out, okay?" she begrudgingly added. She turned to Arnold. "Can we sit down now?"

He looked almost proud before he turned to Gerald. "Is that okay?"

Gerald had been watching the exchange with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, but slowly nodded. He still didn't seem totally comfortable, but mostly he just seemed shocked at "Henrik's" apology. Once they'd gotten settled, he spoke. "If you guys don't mind, I'd like to clear a thing or two up."

Arnold shrugged, replying with a quick, "Sure," and Helga just ignored him and began to eat her breakfast.

"So… Are you two together?" He asked bluntly, gesturing between them.

Arnold gave a frustrated groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Gerald, for the last time, I am NOT gay!"

"Okay, Okay," Gerald said, putting up his hands in defense, "No need to get all defensive about it, I'll believe you…" He trailed off and a relieved look crossed Arnold's face. He began to eat his food, glad that things seemed to be working out… "But what about him?" Arnold's head snapped back up. "You said he _kissed _you, man!"

He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "It really isn't as big of a deal as it sounds like…" he said, looking away.

"So now you guys are just going to talk about me while I'm sitting _right here?"_

Arnold and Gerald both looked over in surprise to the source of the question, who currently had her arms folded and was glaring at the both of them. Gerald took a moment to recover, but then turned to face her, placing his elbows on the table. "Well, _Are _you gay? Did you really kiss him?" he boldly asked. Apparently a good night's sleep and that apology from earlier had brought back his courage. Arnold glanced nervously at her, unsure how she would respond and if he should butt in or not...

Meanwhile, Helga was having an internal debate. Judging by Gerald's reactions yesterday, if she _did_ say that Henrik was gay, he would almost definitely attach a social stigma to her and feel uncomfortable around her for the rest of the semester. On one hand, that would be a very good thing. If he ever seemed to be getting too close to figuring out who she was, she could always pretend to hit on him or Arnold and send him running for the hills. On the other hand, Gerald was Arnold's best friend, and saying that Henrik was gay would likely cause trouble for her beloved. Already Gerald had accused him of being gay (though she couldn't entirely blame him, with Arnold's lack of participation in the dating world) and her presence would likely strain their relationship further. And though he was still a pretty awful liar, Arnold _had_ been doing his best not to let her secret slip; she was grateful for his kindness and really didn't want to cause him trouble (well, not _serious _trouble at least). If she said that Henrik was straight, she could avoid the issues that it would cause for Arnold, though Gerald would have a higher likelihood of finding out her secret. But then there was the whole kissing thing… Arnold had somehow not managed to spill the beans on that one, but she couldn't just let him try to feebly explain it. He'd _never _be able to lie his way out of that one. That would require _her _expertise. Finally, she took a deep breath and made her decision. The two boys looked at her with various degrees of anticipation…

"I already told you; I think dating is pointless because it's just an excuse for womanizers like _you _to get laid," she said flatly and watched them blink in surprise, "And if I _was _gay, I certainly wouldn't go for someone like _this _dweeb, let alone kiss him." She pointed to Arnold and pretended to gag.

"But he said you—" Gerald objected but was cut off.

"_He's _a _moron,"_ she interrupted, rolling her eyes and turning to the football headed boy in question. "How could you even call that a kiss?" she demanded.

Arnold glanced between her and Gerald with wide eyes. He had _no idea _where she was going with this. "W-well, I—that is, I—"

Helga quickly cut him off before he could mess up her plan. "Apparently _this _guy thinks saving your life is kissing him." Arnold gave her a confused look as she continued, but had the good sense to stay silent. "You see, he was in the, uh, bathroom, and…" She had a basic excuse planned out, but all of the details she was making up on the fly. "…he choked on some… toothpaste, and, um, started to cough a lot, and then he… hit his head…" _Pull it together Helga! _She ordered herself, "…and… Anyway, long story short, he stopped breathing so I gave him mouth to mouth and saved his life," she finished casually, waving it off like she wasn't talking about Arnold almost dying. "Now he seems to think that I was trying to kiss him or something," she turned to look at Arnold, shaking her head with false pity. "Poor, confused kid… I think the lack of oxygen must've killed off one too many brain cells."

Arnold gaped at her. He wasn't sure whether he should be offended or be applauding. "Is that what really happened, Arnold?" Gerald asked, looking unsure.

"Y-yeah, that sounds… about right," Arnold stuttered out.

"Well, now that that's all cleared up," Helga said suddenly and grabbed her trey, "I have some stuff to do before class, so if you have any more questions you'll have go get over it." She stood and left the table, leaving the two boys alone. They both watched her walk away for a minute before Gerald turned to Arnold with a slightly shocked expression.

"Why didn't you _tell _me that you almost died?" he demanded.

"I... was still confused after the accident," he fibbed.

"Huh…" Gerald said, staring down at the remains of his food. "Come to think of it, you _have _been acting a little weird… Are you sure you're okay?"

Arnold rolled his eyes as they stood and dumped off their treys. "I'm fine, Gerald," he assured as they walked toward the exit.

Gerald walked next to him, shaking his head in disbelief. "Man, I take back everything I said about Henrik acting like Helga. Hell would freeze over before you got _her _to apologize for anything. Seriously, what kind of hoodoo-voodoo did you work on him?"

Arnold did his best to hide the grin that had broken out on his face at the irony of his friend's statement. "I told you there was more to him; all I had to do was ask nicely." _Well, that and sort of threaten to spill her secret to my best friend, _he silently added, _but mostly it was just asking nicely._

"Why are you smiling like that?"

Arnold really needed to learn to hide these things better. "Let's just say that I feel very accomplished with myself," he replied, still grinning with pride.

Gerald eyed him suspiciously. "Are you _sure_ there's nothing going on between you?"

The look of pride fell from his face and he sent Gerald an irritated look. "I told you, I'm NOT gay!"

"Whatever you say, man…" His friend said, looking casually in the other direction before cracking up. "I'm just joking with you," he finally said through his chuckles, "You're a really easy target, if you hadn't noticed." He patted his friend on the back as they made their way to their classes.

_It's surprising that he and Helga don't get along, _Arnold mused, _They have such similar senses of humor sometimes… _

He turned to head to his class, but at the last second Gerald caught his shoulder. "Hey, what happened to your hat?" Gerald asked, staring at space on Arnold's head where the object should be. With the reminder that he was indeed still missing his hat, a slightly irritated look crossed Arnold's face and he gently brushed his friend's hand off.

"Gerald…" he said slowly, a note of fatigue in his voice, "Could you do me a favor?"

His friend sent him a perplexed expression, but shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, man, what do you need?"

"Don't ask me about what happened to my hat, ok?" He gave him a pleading look. "It's… a long story."

"Alright…" Gerald reluctantly accepted the request, "I guess I'll see you later then?"

Arnold nodded and started walking away. "Later, Gerald!" He waved and disappeared around a corner.

* * *

To Helga's immense relief, Gerald had finally seemed to give up staring at her in Performance Poetry.

"It's about time," she muttered under her breath as Mr. Volker came in. He gave them several poems to read and then assigned them to write a short essay examining their similarities and differences. Apparently he wasn't feeling very _dramatic _with his lesson plan today, but she was fine with that as it gave her the option to zone out for the hour. She happily took the opportunity to do some serious thinking on the question she was going to ask Arnold. The potential of this opportunity caused excitement to bubble up inside her; she could ask him _anything! _Well, maybe not quite _anything, _but she could certainly ask him anything that didn't have to do with how she felt about him… She could ask him why he always wore the same hat all the time (or why he showered with it and blow dried it too), or why he always had an excuse when girls asked him out (then again, maybe she wasn't supposed to know about that, so maybe she better not…), or how he was able to be so nice and kind all of the time, or where he wanted to go on his honeymoon… She sighed dreamily as her thoughts began to drift off on a tangent. Just before the hour ended, Mr. Volker got the attention of the class again and took her from her daydreams. She'd been in the middle of a fantasy about Arnold's proposal, and she wasn't too happy about being interrupted.

"If I could have your attention please, class, I would like to announce that we are almost halfway through the poetry tournament! Congratulations are in order to those who have managed to remain in the running, but be warned: as we draw closer to the final two, the other judges and I will be eliminating larger and larger numbers of poets. Also, as an added incentive, I have decided to let the winners of the tournament skip the final exam. I will take their performance at the Festival as their exam grade instead. With this in mind, I wish you all good luck on your reading tomorrow."

The hour ended, and students began to filter out of the classroom. Helga was sluggish in standing up from her desk, her mind far away as she came to a realization: She had yet to come up with a "non-Arnold" poem to read tomorrow. With all of the other drama that had happened this week, she'd completely forgotten about the tournament. Given how long it usually took her to come up with a "non-Arnold" poem, she would really need to focus if she didn't want to be spilling her heart on the stage tomorrow. As she walked toward the door, Mr. Volker stood up and blocked her way.

"Mr. Patterson, please see me when are done with your classes," he said slowly, which irritated her to no end. She needed to get out of here and work on that stupid poem! "I need to have a word with you."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," she replied, brushing off his request and quickly stepping around him. He would've scolded her for disrespect, but she was already out the door.

After that, every free moment she could find was spent trying to come up with a "non-Arnold" poem. While she was supposed to be doing math problems in Trigonometry, she brainstormed topics with no success. She even brought her notebook to lunch with her, trying to work while she ate. Arnold and Gerald had looked at her strangely, but neither had said anything. Arnold had stayed quiet because he didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to Helga, while Gerald just assumed that "Henrik" had suddenly got competitive about this poetry tournament.

AP Biology didn't help her endeavor at all, as Arnold was _in _that class. By the end of History of Poetry, she had yet to come up with anything beyond a few basic ideas. When the class let out, she hurried through the hallways, trying to get back to their room and work on her poetry. She was forced to stop, however, when a familiar voice called out to her.

"Henrik!"

She turned to see Arnold jogging toward her, panting slightly. He'd had to run to catch up with her. "Shouldn't you be going to class?" she snapped when he reached her, feeling slightly irritated at being stopped in her attempt to get back and work on her poem.

He nodded, and quickly caught his breath before he spoke. "I'll be going there in a second, but I wanted to ask you something first."

"Get asking, then," she said shortly.

"Hel—err, _Henrik_," he corrected himself, "People have been asking nonstop about my hat all day long—"

"Just spit it out," she growled with impatience.

He frowned but didn't have time to argue. "Can I please just have my hat back? I promise that I'll fill my end of the bargain."

He looked at her with pleading eyes, but her face remained unchanged. All she did was cross her arms. "Sorry, but that's just not gonna happen, bucko. You should probably get to class now." He looked agitated by her response and folded his arms, refusing to move. Had she not already been losing her temper, she might've rolled her eyes. So he thought he could win a battle of wills against her? Oh _Please. _He must've forgotten who he was talking to. "Arnold, you're not getting your hat back until I'm done with it," she said flatly, "Now get lost. I'm busy." When he still did not move, she took a step forward and pointed down the hallway. "Beat it!" she shouted into his face, hoping he would flinch.

The action did not cause him to flinch, but he _did _reluctantly turn away and begin walking toward his class, and that more than satisfied her original goal. "Later, Henrik," she heard him mumble as he walked away. She felt a little guilty about being so mean to him, but she _had _told him that she was busy, and she really didn't have time for this.

Letting out a breath, she quickly returned to her mission and headed toward their room. She did NOT want to read an Arnold love poem tomorrow; not with him knowing that it was her! Her pace quickly increased to a jog.

"Mr. Patterson!"

Helga groaned and stumbled to a stop at _that _voice. There was no mistaking who it belonged to…

"Running in the hallways is _strictly _forbidden!" Mr. Volker reprimanded as she reluctantly turned around. "If you should continue to exhibit such unruly behavior, I will be forced to contact your parents!" She gave a short laugh. _Good luck reaching them, _she silently replied.

With an impatient sigh, she shifted her weight to one foot and crossed her arms behind her back. "Oh, I'm _so sorry_ Mr. Volker!" she lied, "I'll never do it again." She turned and began walk away as fast as she could.

"Stop right there, young man! I'm not done with you," Helga groaned internally and turned around yet again. "I believe I requested that you see me once your classes were done. As I personally arranged your schedule, I am aware that you have only five classes. The last of these just ended, so why, if I may ask, are you heading _away _from my classroom?" His narrowed eyes squinted down at her. _Doesn't he have a class or something he should be teaching right now?_ She wondered.

She gritted her teeth for a second to control her temper, before forcing an innocent, worried expression to her face. "Gee, Mr. Volker, I'd really like to, but you see I'm actually really busy working on a project for another class right now. Could I stop by later?"

The crotchety old man eyed her warily, but seemed to consider her proposal. "I have _important business _to attend to later on tonight, and tomorrow we shall both be unavailable due to the Poetry tournament, but I _suppose _that a meeting Friday after class could be arranged."

"Oh _thank you_, Mr. Volker!" she exclaimed in a falsely cheery voice. After a moment, Mr. Volker gave a condescending nod that she took as her cue to leave. As she was still in sight of the professor, she turned on her heel and set off at as fast a pace she could manage and still be considered walking. "I swear," she grumbled quietly as she _finally _reached the double doors to the dormitories, "If _one _more stupid schmuck gets in my way, I'll—"

"Hey, Henrik!"

She whipped back around in a fury. "_WHAT?"_ she roared. Hellfire burned in her eyes as she found herself glaring up at none other than Gerald.

He shrunk back at her response. "I just wanted to ask if you knew what time it was," he said, slightly frightened, "You don't have to flip a lid about it…"

"Ask someone else!" she yelled and stormed off.

Gerald was left alone in the hallway, shaking his head his head in the direction that Helga had disappeared to. "Mmm, mmm, mmm," he hummed, "That guy is _nuts." _

* * *

_Alright, _Helga thought, staring down her notebook, _I just need to sit down and do it. _After all of those diversions, she now had about 45 minutes in which she could work in an "Arnold free" environment. If she was going to write a poem that didn't have him in it, this would be the easiest time to do it. _Time to get down to business, _she thought and cracked her knuckles.

"Things that don't have to do with Arnold…" she muttered, tapping her pencil against her mouth. Plenty of things didn't have to do with him, right? He was only one guy, after all. Sure, he was almost endlessly patient and had the most adorable and uniquely shaped head she'd ever seen and—_Snap out of it_! she scolded herself, _That won't get you anywhere! _

Shaking her head, she tried to focus. _Getting back on topic here: Things that do NOT have to do with Arnold that could be a poem. Let's see… Maybe some kind of "beauty of nature" mumbo jumbo?_ **A/N: There was another poem here, but the formatting didn't transfer, so I had to take it out. **_Nah,_ i_t should probably have _some _kind of emotion in it, to make it interesting, _she decided. _Maybe a specific memory? Like… my last birthday. _After a moment of thinking, again she tried to write.

_Again we have finished another rotation_

_In our journey through the constellations_

_Another year older_

_But still no more bolder_

_Always to hide my secret adoration _

_Forever trapped with my football fixation_

Well… she'd made it to almost an entire stanza without referencing Arnold… sort of… Glaring at the paper and pressing her lips into a thin line, she tore it out of her notebook and crumpled it into a ball. She let out a frustrated sigh and looked at the clock. At least she still had some time before Arnold got back… Having him hanging around would make this about ten times harder.

Just as she had that thought, the sound of the door opening and closing reached her. Her head snapped up and several seconds later, Arnold came walking around the corner. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Arnold walked over to his bed and set his stuff down. "My professor let us out early," he casually replied before turning to her with a pleading look. "Can I please have my hat back now?"

"No. And you're not going to change my mind, so stop asking," she said shortly before turning back to her notebook. She heard him sigh and sit down at his desk. _Just ignore him, _she told herself, _You've got to get this poem done. _She tried to return to brainstorming, but found the task to be even more difficult than before. Well, that wasn't exactly a surprise…

_Think, Helga, think! _She ordered herself. Like she'd thought earlier, there had to be lots of topics that didn't involve Arnold… Baseball? No, she'd played that with him too much… School wouldn't work either, because that would definitely end up turning into an Arnold poem. Her family could possibly work, because he generally hadn't had much to do with them, but on the other hand—

"When did you start writing poetry?"

Arnold's voice interrupted her thoughts. She was slightly jarred by the question. An immediate response formed in her mind, which she of course held back: _About five seconds after I met you, duh._ She was tempted to look over to him and see the expression on his face, but she resisted. If she did that, then she would get distracted for sure. "I've been doing it for a while, not that it's really any of your business, Football Head," she eventually replied.

"Sorry," she heard him politely apologize, "I was just curious. I never knew that you were into that type of thing. You never struck me as the… _creative_ type." A blush formed on her cheeks at his response, and she decided that the best course of action was to remain silent. That way, he'd be less likely to disturb her writing again AND less likely to notice her blush. After several minutes, she assumed that her plan had worked. But then…

"Where are your parents?"

Well _that _was random. She found herself beginning to look up at him and immediately forced herself to look back down at her paper. No, she would NOT get distracted from this! "I don't know," she answered. It was short, but it was true.

"Why didn't you go with them for the summer?" she heard him ask, not pausing this time, "Wouldn't it be safer for you to be with the rest of your family?"

Finally she grew irritated enough that she was driven to peak over at him. He was sitting at his desk with a book open in front of him. Obviously he had intended on studying and ended up staring off into space, like he so frequently did. Except this time instead of gazing out the window, he was gazing at that photo of his parents that was sitting on his desk…

She sighed and sat up. Whatever had gotten into his system to make him suddenly so inquisitive would just have to run its course, and that meant that she needed to get this over with. "Why didn't you ask me all of this when you _first _found out who I was?" she complained.

"That's just it," he said and looked up from the picture, "So much has happened over the past couple days that I sort of… forgot to ask."

"If you forgot about it, is it really that important?" she questioned and crossed her arms. She kept catching herself staring at the empty spot on his head. He really did look sort of naked without his hat… She'd better think up that question soon…

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to know…" As if he'd ever stop bugging her if she said she _did _mind. "So why didn't you go with them?" he asked.

"The police said it was a bad idea, that we'd be too recognizable or some kind of crap like that…" She waved it off and awaited the next set of questions, but he just said "Oh," and looked back to the picture. She eyed him suspiciously as he just sat there silently. That was _way _too easy; he couldn't be done…

After a couple minutes, he spoke up again, just as she thought he would. "I guess it was actually _you _who found this, wasn't it?" he said softly, not really expecting an answer. His face had taken on a sad, nostalgic quality, the sight of which had her anger dissipating. He looked at the picture for a moment longer before speaking again. "Thanks again, for that…" Guilt began to creep into her heart. "I don't know what I would have done without it." He looked up at her now and gave her a small, but unbelievably genuine smile. "You're a good friend, Helga."

…Okay, now that just wasn't fair. Her stomach twisted and she looked to the floor. While it was true that she _had _found it, she'd also held onto it for quite a while when she knew how badly he wanted it. What kind of person was she to keep from him the only memento of his parents that he had? And then he just _had _to go and say such nice things about her and be so grateful… It wouldn't do any good, but… she couldn't just sit here and receive this praise while she was so undeserving. She had to come clean.

"Hey, Arnold…" she began timidly, still looking at the floor, "There's something that I should tell you…"

"What is it, Helga?" He asked, sounding so innocent… Her stomach twisted tighter on itself and she frowned. Hopefully he wouldn't hate her after this…

She took a deep breath. "I… When I gave you that picture, I'd already had it… for a while."

He looked confused. "What do you mean?"

The breath she'd taken earlier was let out slowly. "I mean that… I found it, and sort of… kept it from you for a while…" she was twiddling her thumbs now just so she would have something to do.

Understanding seemed to dawn on his face, and he turned to her in slight shock. "But… why? Why would you do that?"

'Why had she decided to tell him this' was a better question, but she plowed onward anyway. She gulped before she continued. "I think I was mad about something, and I wanted to… I don't know… get back at you somehow…"

"You mean you had it when I was up in the middle of the night, tearing the room apart to find it, and you didn't _tell _me?!" Ok, there was the anger she'd been expecting.

"…yes," she reluctantly admitted. When she and looked up to meet his eyes with her own guilty ones, he looked away. She watched as his brow creased and the corner of his mouth tilted down. As the disappointment inevitably showed up in his eyes, she felt somewhat like she was watching a sinking ship, helpless to stop it from meeting its watery grave.

'_I'm sorry,'_ she desperately wanted to say, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she bit her lip nervously and just continued to look at him. "Arnold?" she asked tentatively when he remained silent.

Eventually he turned his face toward her, but still refused to meet her eyes. "I appreciate your honesty," he said, a slight cold edge to his voice, and turned back to his homework. With a sinking feeling, she turned back to her notebook as well.

In vain, she tried to brainstorm, but found herself completely unable to focus. Just how much damage had her honesty done?


	14. Ice Breaker

**A/N: **

Hey! So I think this chapter is a little short, but I literally laughed out loud while writing it, and I hope you do too while reading it (Although don't expect the WHOLE chapter to be that way… you'll see). I plan to hopefully get another chapter up this week, but there's always a possibility I won't, and just in case I'll inform all of you now: I have classes starting soon, and after they start I will be about ten times busier, and I expect that updates will then come about ten times slower. Rest assured, however, that I have NO intention of abandoning this story! I've got it all planned out (mostly, though there is still plenty of room for suggestions ;-) ) and whether it's sooner or later this thing is gonna get finished!

Also, there was a question recently about how long the story will be. I'm almost 100% positive that it will be more than 20 chapters. To give you an estimate, the summer school that Helga and Arnold are attending is supposed to last six weeks. As of Chapter 13 we have made it through Wednesday of the third week. The story won't necessarily follow the exact time span of the summer school (could be a little more or a little less) but should at least cover most of it

Oh, and FYI, the poem in this chapter took me FOREVER!

Disclaimer: I know it, you know it, everybody knows it so let's all admit it: I don't own Hey Arnold.

**Chapter 14:**

**Ice Breaker**

She'd spent all day trying to think of something, _all day, _and _still _she'd come up with nothing. It really didn't help that after her confession yesterday, Arnold had been somewhat… _distant _with her. He didn't seem outright mad, exactly, just distant. And a tiny bit cold. And maybe just a little bit hurt… This response, more than any other he could have had, drove her crazy. You would've thought that his distance would have made writing a poem that didn't have to do with him easier, but instead it made her almost completely unable to think of anything but him.

Every time she tried to write something, it came out with nervous and apologetic undertones. She'd held out a thin strand of hope that inspiration would hit at the last minute, as it had frequently in the past, but now… Now it was too late. As a last resort, she'd grabbed her notebook with her unused "Arnold poems", and now she was about to go on stage and she hadn't even picked one out.

As they ushered her on, she quickly flipped to her most recent love poem. It would have to do. As she stepped toward the microphone, she glanced toward where Arnold sat in the audience. He wasn't looking at her. Her heart gave a slight lurch, but really it was probably for the best if he wasn't paying attention to her performance… even if it was because he was upset with her. She sucked in a breath and began to read her poem, despite the fact that she didn't completely remember what she'd written in this one…

"_Thou fairest angel which haunts my dreams,_

_How wonderfully patient you are._

_That you endure my fool-hearted schemes _

_Fans the flame of my love from afar._

_What fate sends a seraphim so kind_

_And evokes a passion so deep,_

_Yet curses the cherub to be blind _

_Ne'er to see the secrets I keep."_

When she'd finished, she gave a quick bow and headed off the stage. Arnold nodded to her as she reached her seat, but kept his focus on the stage rather than look at her. Obviously, he hadn't really been listening. Gerald on the other hand, who was just on the opposite side of Arnold, was looking at her with great interest. "How do you come up with that stuff?" he asked with genuine excitement.

After yesterday, it seemed that he had just accepted the frequent odd behavior between she and Arnold as normal. He'd also gotten significantly more competitive about the poetry tournament after seeing how "seriously" that she was taking it yesterday (what with all of her frantic poetry writing at lunch), so she was a little suspicious that he was fishing for ways to better his _own _poetry. "What can I say, emotional gibberish makes for good poetry," she evasively answered, distracted and much more concerned with the Football headed boy next to her. It seemed that all of her worry that Arnold would discover her feelings through her performed poem was needless; he hadn't even paid attention to it.

They watched the rest of the contestants read their poems with little conversation. By the time they left the auditorium, Arnold had yet to even make eye contact with her.

* * *

Helga had never been grateful of Gerald's presence at the school until that evening at dinner. Arnold was obviously giving "Henrik" somewhat of a cold shoulder, and Gerald was serving as a shockingly good buffer. He would ask Arnold something and talk about it for a while, and then (surprisingly) he tried to talk to her a bit, mostly asking her about poetry related things. Eventually, when neither party proved very talkative, he launched into his own story about a car that his brother had wrecked once. It was safe to say that without his presence, the tension in the air at that dinner would have been unbearable.

The first thing Arnold did when they got back to their room was turn to Helga with a blank face and crossed arms. "I want my hat back," he stated, leaving no room for misinterpretation. He wasn't asking this time…

Helga slowly fished her hand into her pocket and withdrew the small object, clutching it gingerly. "I know my question now," she said, meeting his blank stare with her remorseful one. She'd known since yesterday afternoon after she'd seen how Arnold gazed at that picture on his desk, but she'd been too afraid to ask. It seemed like it would just add insult to injury… but she wanted to know.

"Fine," he replied shortly and walked over to sit on his bed, "What do you want to know?" His expression still hadn't changed, but his arms were still folded and he was sitting very stiffly. And his eyes were so cold… _Oh Arnold, _she thought in despair, _I really have hurt you this time, haven't I?_

She bit her lip and sat on her own bed, still clutching the hat. "Before I get into it, there's something I want to say."

"Say whatever you want, Helga," he answered and gave a shrug, seemingly uncaring.

"Arnold, I…" She took a deep breath before continuing quietly. "I'm sorry that I kept that picture of your parents from you… It was wrong to keep it from you, and I see that now…" Hesitantly she snuck a look at him and found him squinting at her as if assessing whether or not she was being truthful.

Eventually, he let out a short sigh and nodded. "Okay," he replied, "Now what's your question?"

Her eyebrows knitted together and as she looked at him and prepared to speak. "…What happened to your parents?"

Arnold's eyes shot wide open in surprise and then narrowed. "_What?" _he shouted.

Helga leaned back, a little afraid to speak, but hesitantly replied anyway. "I-I want to know what happened to your parents."

"I heard it the first time!" He'd uncrossed his arms now and had fisted his hands in his bedspread.

Her temper flared. "Then why did you say 'what'?!" she shouted back at him.

He shook his head and gaped at her, appalled. "Because—just—_No, _Helga! I can't believe you'd even—that's just not something you play around with!"

"But Arnold, I'm _not _'playing around'," She was stressing her words now, trying hard to keep her anger in check, "I know how much this means to you!"

The always level headed Arnold finally lost his cool. "How could you know how much this means to me?" He stood up as he yelled. "You _have _parents, what would you know about it?"

"Ok, _fine!" _She yelled and stood up as well,_ "_I _don't _know how much it means in that stupid football head of yours, but I _want _to!" She breathed heavily for a few seconds, aware that she might've revealed a little more than she originally had intended, but still too mad to really think about it. "_Happy?" _she asked after a few seconds, chucking his hat at him from across the room. "You can have the dumb thing back. It's obvious that you're not going to back up your end of the bargain anyway…" Feeling stupid for even asking the question in the first place, she turned away and glared at the corner.

He picked up the object and frowned at her before letting out a huff and sitting back down. "_Fine," _he ground out (which was an unusual way of talking for Arnold), "I'll tell you." She blinked a couple of times and cautiously sat back down as well, though the scowl did not entirely leave her face. Arnold hurried through his story in an angry tone. "My parents did a lot of traveling before I was born. They traveled the world helping people. After I was born, they moved back in with my grandparents. Then, two days before my second birthday, they were called away to help some people. And then they flew away in a plane to Central America and never came back." He looked to her, a frown on his face. "Happy?" he asked, mimicking her tone from earlier.

"I guess," she mumbled reluctantly, looking away. She knew that she hadn't really gotten her money's worth (it was obvious that he was holding back quite a bit) but it was still more than she'd ever known before. The urge to inquire further was strong, but she didn't have the heart to make him dwell on it any longer, especially when he was obviously still in a bad mood. And, to be perfectly honest, so was she.

Arnold stood and began gathering up his toiletries. "I'm going to bed early tonight," he stated as he headed to the bathroom, and that was the end of their communication for the night. For the second time in a row, Helga went to bed frustrated by the tension that hung in the air.

* * *

The next morning, Gerald was pleased to inform them over breakfast that he had, in fact, made it to the next round in the poetry tournament. Helga only vaguely nodded when he also mentioned (with far less excitement) that she had made it too. She was distracted, yet again, by the fact that Arnold was still giving her the cold shoulder. He hadn't been waiting for her when she'd gotten out of the shower this morning, so she'd had to seek them out when she got to the cafeteria. Gerald, being ever observant, had surely noticed the change but didn't mention it, choosing instead to talk to "Henrik" about poetic techniques.

By lunch they'd run out of safe poetry topics, and so Helga resorted to pretending to be very, very thirsty. Whenever a particularly dangerous question seemed around the corner, she would sip her drink and appear to be too busy to answer verbally. For the most part this technique worked and she avoided saying anything too revealing, but by the end of the lunch period she'd refilled her drink nine times. Despite the fact that the next hour would likely be very uncomfortable (given that Arnold would be there and still giving her the cold shoulder), she was glad to leave the lunchroom.

* * *

When History of Poetry was finally dismissed, a certain disguised blonde girl bolted from the room. Helga hurriedly walked in the direction of their dorm room. She'd had far too much to drink at lunch, and if she didn't get to a toilet _very _quickly, she was pretty sure she'd end up peeing her pants. Like she really needed that on top of everything else… For the entire time that she had been here, whenever "nature called", she had always managed to find a way to get back to their dorm room and use their private bathroom. It just seemed safer, considering her lack of male genitalia. She was excited then, when she rounded a corner and at the end of the long hallway, the dormitory doors came into view. She began to walk faster. And then she noticed who was standing (or perhaps patrolling…) in front of the doors: Mr. Volker.

The memory of his request to meet him in his office after school (which she had been about to skip—err, _forget _about) came back to mind and she panicked. To get to their dorm room she'd have to walk right past him, and the last thing she wanted to top off this day was having to sit through whatever lecture he was going to give her. Her bladder would probably explode if he forced her to sit there and listen, anyway.

He hadn't noticed her yet, and she quickly looked around for somewhere to hide. Ironically, she happened to be standing just outside the men's bathroom. With no other options in sight, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

She glanced around nervously and took a few hesitant steps forward as the door closed behind her. Despite being "one of the guys" all through her childhood, she'd never actually been _in _a men's bathroom, and these first glimpses of one didn't exactly impress her. Sure, it was a _bathroom, _and she wasn't expecting anything glamorous, but most of the experiences she'd had in women's bathrooms had smelled better.

There were two sinks on her right, and a little further in two stalls were sticking out from the same wall. On the left wall was a line of urinals, and she jumped a little as she realized that one of them was currently in use. The unfamiliar student noticed her attention and sent her a few discreet, but uncomfortable looking glances. She tore her eyes from him and hurried off into a stall.

With the door safely closed and her bladder still threatening to burst, she sat down and made use of the facilities. As she finished up, she heard a urinal flush and watched the feet of the unnamed student travel to the sink. Several seconds later, she heard someone else enter and walk over to the opposite wall. There was the sound of a zipper, and she hesitated before she unlatched the stall door, feeling acutely aware of all the male anatomy that was being exposed. Really wanting to wash her hands, she shook off the feeling and opened the door anyway.

She tried her best not to look at the urinal user as she stepped out, but caught sight of him anyway in the periphery of her vision and almost had a heart attack.

"_A-Arnold?_" she could help squeaking out and stumbled backwards against the stalls. His head snapped over to the commotion, and his eyes bugged out at the sight of her. His mouth fell open a little, emitting a small "Ah!" as he jumped and angled his body away from her.

"What are you _doing_?" he asked franticly, still trying to shield himself.

"What do you think; it's a bathroom!" she exclaimed nervously. "It's not like I—"

"H-hang on," he interjected, looking away, and for several seconds they just stood there in the most awkward silence that either of them had experienced. The student who had been at the sink turned off the water and scurried out of the bathroom without bothering to dry his hands.

Helga gazed up at the ceiling, her face burning, as she heard Arnold's zipper (Oh lord, Arnold's _zipper! _The zipper to his _pants! Arnold's pants_!_) _and the flush of the urinal.

"Now _what_ are you doinghere?" he finally managed to say in a voice that was much more high pitched than normal.

"The same thing you were!" She instantly replied. She chanced a look at him and found that she wasn't the only one blushing.

"But this is the _men's _room!" he argued.

"Did you think I'd be using the _ladies?" _she asked and raised her eyebrows.

"W-Well, no…" His blush deepened.

"And what are _you _doing here anyway?" She turned his questions back on him. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"I had to go!" he defended himself.

"Well I did too!" She shouted back and looked away. In the silence that followed, she realized that she still hadn't washed her hands and turned to walk to the sinks. Arnold followed her shortly after, taking the only open sink. Both of them looked as far away from the other as possible as they scrubbed. Helga got done first, and grabbed a handful of paper towels to dry her hands with. Arnold finished and waited for her to move.

She was fully prepared to go straight out of the bathroom and leave this awkward situation behind, but before she could Arnold spoke up again, saying "So, uh, did.. did you…" before mumbling something at her that was too soft to hear.

She arched an eyebrow. Ok, so that had been really awkward, but after giving her the cold shoulder all of yesterday and today it was very strange for him to be talking to her. Actually, considering how much the situation must've embarrassed him (which was a lot, judging by his blush) she was surprised that he was still able to talk. Whatever he had to say must be pretty important…

He looked from side to side before speaking again, a little louder. "…Did you see anything?"

She gave him a blank stare. Had he really just asked her if…? She shook her head and put a hand on her hip. "Let me get this straight…" she said, looking him in the eye and feeling her own blush spread down her chest, "You're asking me if I saw your junk?"

It was at this precise moment that Gerald decided to enter the bathroom. The pair paused in their argument and looked over at him in surprise. Having only heard the end of Helga's question, he glanced between the two with raised eyebrows before putting up his hands and backing out of the doorway. "I'm not even going to ask," he said before he slipped out the door.

"Ugh," Arnold groaned and turned back to the disguised girl in front of him, "Now he's probably going to start thinking I'm gay again. Why is it that whenever I'm around you, everything goes wrong?"

"Hey!" she defended herself, "It's not _my _fault that tall hair boy has bad timing!"

"No, but it would help a little if you weren't always such a jerk to everyone!" he shouted at her, "I'm always trying to be nice to you and all you can ever do is be mean!"

She leaned back, offended. "_I_ was _trying _to be nice to you last night!"

"So yelling at me and forcing me to talk about my missing parents is _nice?" _he inquired.

"In case you forgot, _you _were the one who yelled at _me _first!" She jabbed a finger at his chest. "And if you'll remember, before _you _started yelling at _me,_ I had been apologizing."

His eyes narrowed. "Right, apologizing for hiding that picture of my parents from me."

She threw her hands out in exacerbation. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

"And then you asked about my parents!" he pointed out.

"So?" she questioned, "Is that a crime?"

"No, but it's a sensitive topic and you're not exactly the most sensitive person I know—"

"Do you see me making fun of it?" she interrupted, "Have I made any jabs about your parents? _Ever_?" She sent him a hard look.

"I guess not…" he said hesitantly.

She shook her head in disbelief, feeling slightly hurt. "Jeez, I know I can be mean but even _I'm_ not _that _heartless." After a minute she added much more quietly (and not entirely intending for him to hear), "You must_ actually _hate me then…"

His face softened. Maybe he _had _been overreacting a little… Either way, fighting about it wasn't going to get them anywhere. "I don't hate you," he said with a frown before a nagging feeling made him glance down at his watch. At the sight of the time, he looked up and began inching toward the door. "But I do have to get back to class, so I'll… see you before I leave today, I guess." He walked toward the door but Helga called out to him.

"Wait!" He turned around and looked at her curiously. "Do you think you could do me a favor?" she asked sheepishly.

"What kind of favor?" he cautiously asked.

She clasped her hands together nervously. "…could you check the hallway and see if Mr. Volker is still out there?" She watched as he sighed and walked out the door. For a second she thought that he'd ignored her request completely and had just gone to class, but then he poked his head back in the door.

"He's not out here, as far as I can tell," He looked over his shoulder to double check before turning back to her. "Now I really do have to get to class before I miss the whole thing, so we'll just… finish talking about this later, okay?" And then he retreated out the doorway and was gone.

She blinked a little in surprise before grabbing the handle and heading out the door herself. _He wants to talk about it later?_ She hadn't realized that there _was _more to talk about. At this point though, she was just glad that he was willing to talk to her again _at all, _so in no way was she going to argue.

* * *

They sat on his bed in silence, neither sure of what to say. Once Arnold's bags were packed and ready to go, he'd sat down on his bed and stated that they should probably talk before he left, if they were going to at all. However, just after his statement he'd realized that he hadn't prepared anything to say, which led them to their current lack of conversation. Eventually, he cleared his throat. "My Grandpa will probably be here in about fifteen minutes to pick me up," he announced.

"I don't think you actually told me that you were going this time," she pointed out.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah, sorry, I sort of had other things on my mind…"

She let out a quiet snort. "I noticed."

There was a slightly tense pause before he spoke again. "Why did you keep my picture from me?" he finally asked.

"I already told you," she pointed out before forcing herself to repeat her admission from the day before, "I got mad and I thought that somehow holding onto that picture was pay back."

"But—But that was so mean!" He argued. "How could you do something like that?" He looked at her with slight hurt in his eyes.

Helga turned to him, bracing her arms against her knees. "Football Head, you've gotta understand…" She gave herself a short pause in which she sucked up her pride. If Arnold really was going to stop giving her the cold shoulder, she was going to do her best to smooth things over with him; that included being brutally honest about herself. "Sometimes I do really mean, stupid things. I get ideas and I go way over the top with them against all better judgment. I'll admit that it's not my best quality, but it's just something that I do. _This_ was one of those times." She looked to him to see if he understood.

"I guess that makes sense…" he said slowly, looking to his feet with a frown, "Sort of…"

Seeing that he could be getting the wrong idea, she quickly launched into a short explanation. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I can see that it wasn't the right thing to do _now, _and I could punch myself for not having seen it before, but well… I made a mistake. All I can do now is just try and not be as much of a moron in the future."

He gave a small nod of acceptance, and a slight smile even bloomed on his lips as she finished talking. "I'm sorry if I overreacted," he said before checking his watch again, "I should probably head out now, but I'm glad that we had this… discussion."

He flashed her another, much warmer smile, and she crossed her arms and tried her best to look unaffected. "Whatever floats your boat, hair boy," she said with a shrug.

He stood and headed for the door, but paused and looked back at her. "Oh, and Helga?"

"Yeah?" She replied, unsure of what else he could have to say.

"For future reference, you probably should avoid staring at a guy while he's peeing. Or yelling out their name and almost falling over. It's… kind of bad etiquette." He was holding back a smile as he finished, unable to hide his amusement at her shocked expression. He knew that he should've been more embarrassed at this point, but there was just something extremely entertaining about catching Helga Pataki off guard.

"I-I'll keep that in mind," she stammered out in slight mortification.

He let out a low chuckle and again headed for the door. "See you in a couple of days," he called out as he stepped out the door and closed it behind him.


	15. Foreshadow

**A/N: **

So I've got good news and bad news! Bad news is that as I'd predicted, my classes are making me very busy, and so I have less time to work on this and updates are coming slower. I'll do my best not to keep you guys waiting, buuut unfortunately school has to come first (I know, I'm mad about it too). Good news is that you guys get this mammoth of a chapter! It's nearing 7,000 words (and eleven pages!)! Oh, so I don't think I mentioned it, but I expect that a couple of these times that Arnold has gone back to Hillwood, Gerald has gone with him. Thank you all for your reviews, and I look forward to any more questions, comments, or concerns that you have. :) This one might be a little more heavy on the drama side of things, but it's been coming for quite a while. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I own a bunch of really big textbooks, but I don't own Hey Arnold.

**Chapter 15:**

**Foreshadow **

Helga woke Monday morning before her alarm went off. She cracked an eye open and caught a glimpse of Arnold crossing the room as he headed to his morning shower. His hair was messed up and sticking out at odd angles, but other than that there was no evidence that several seconds ago he'd been sleeping. He was bright and alert as ever. _What a buffoon. What kind of sane person actually enjoys being up at this hour? _She wondered, but couldn't help the groggy smile that formed on her face beneath the covers. _And yet_, _how I love that foolish little ball of sunshine… and he's not mad at me anymore… and I get to spend most of my summer waking up with him! _Sure that Arnold couldn't hear her from the shower, she let out a swooning sigh and nuzzled into her pillow, dozing happily in her last few minutes. _Oh, Arnold…_

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

There was the dying cow again to interrupt her half spun dreams. She groaned and switched it off as she sat up. The sound of the bathroom door opening reached her ears as she rubbed her eyes. This was her cue that Arnold would be done soon, so she grabbed her things and made her way to the bathroom. As usual, she found Arnold in front of the mirror fully dressed and just now finishing up with his other rituals.

"Good morning, Helga," he greeted when he noticed her in the reflection behind him.

She leaned back against the doorframe. "Morning, Football Head," she replied, surprising herself by how upbeat her voice sounded.

"You seem cheery this morning," he noted as he gathered up his things.

Now that wouldn't do. As much as she _was _in a good mood, she couldn't go letting him think that she'd lost her edge. "I won't be for long if you don't hurry up," came her retort, "So cut the chit-chat and let me have some privacy already." She even threw in a small scowl for good measure.

Arnold rolled his eyes and headed out of the bathroom. "Whatever you say, Helga."

"That's right, whatever _I _say," she said in a threatening voice before she shut the door, "And don't you forget it!" After the door was safely closed, she swooned to herself for a second before stepping into the shower. When she finished her normal routine and opened the door, she was elated to find that he had decided to start waiting for her again, but kept her face indifferent.

Gerald met them outside the cafeteria. When he saw them walking toward him _together _and obviously on much better terms than the last time he'd seen them, his eyebrows shot up. Once they reached him, however, all he did was shake his head and mutter something under his breath that Helga didn't quite catch. Arnold, on the other hand, _did _catch most of what his friend said and sent him a glare. Helga watched Gerald put up his hands in defense and say quietly, "No judgment, man, no judgment." Arnold shook his head in mild irritation as they headed into the cafeteria.

Breakfast went smoothly. Actually, pretty much the entire rest of the day went smoothly. It turned out to be a downright decent day; you might even call it great. The weekend had been very productive for Helga, as she'd managed to write three whole "non-Arnold" poems. Because of this, her performance that night at the poetry tournament went off without a hitch. Really, the only thing that marred this Monday's near perfect record happened during performance poetry, when Mr. Volker confronted her…

She'd just walked in the door when the professor spotted her. He was on her like a hawk, flagging her over to his desk the second she was inside.

"Mr. Patterson," he spoke in a stern voice, "I am _very _displeased with you. I do not appreciate having my time wasted."

_He must be talking about the meeting with him on Friday that I skipped—err, forgot, _she realized. _Better play dumb… _"What do you mean?" she asked innocently.

"Why did you not meet me in my office on Friday as I had instructed?" he demanded, not thrown by her act at all.

"Oh!" She faked surprise, placing a hand on her cheek. "I completely forgot about that! I'm _so sorry _Mr. Volker."

The ornery teacher tapped his fingers against his desk impatiently. "You will meet me in my office after your classes tomorrow, or I will be forced to take more drastic measures."

She groaned internally. Why couldn't he just get it over with and lecture her right here and now? _Actually, _she thought as she noticed that almost all of the students were here already, _that's not a half bad idea. If he gets it over with right now, he has a time limit because he has to start class… _"I'm actually pretty busy with other classes," she began hopefully, "Would you maybe be able to just discuss it with me now?"

The question seemed to only irritate him further. "I cannot just 'discuss it with you now'," he repeated her words like they were trivial, "There is not nearly enough time at the moment." A suspicious feeling grew in her as she searched her memory and realized that he had never, in fact, mentioned exactly _what _they would be discussing. She'd always assumed he was mad at her about disrespecting his rules or something, but now she wasn't so sure. He'd never been this persistent in the past. Whatever the issue was, he _really _wanted to talk with her about it.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Just what was it that you wanted to talk about again?"

"A matter of urgent importance," he said shortly and then stood up. "Now if you would take your seat, Mr. Patterson, class is about to begin."

Reluctantly, she walked away and sat down. The conversation left her with a feeling of unease, but she brushed it off and went about the rest of her day.

* * *

Tuesday morning was not nearly as cheerful for Helga as the previous one had been, but it was normal enough. Arnold had been distracted during breakfast by some last minute homework, and that left her with little to do but talk to Gerald. They'd pretty much exhausted all of their material during the period of time when Arnold was giving her the cold shoulder, so the conversation was a bit lacking.

Performance Poetry had been no more intellectually stimulating. As the poetry tournament continued and more poets were disqualified, more and more students were required to read their poems in class. Mr. Volker spread the performances out over two days, which meant that a significant portion of the class period was spent listening to extremely boring and uninspired poetry.

By Trigonometry, she was pretty thoroughly bored. She would've zoned out, but the professor was being especially vigilant today. It looked like she might have to actually do some real work. She glanced down at the worksheet they'd been given. _Find all solutions in [0,2__) for the equation 2cos__2__x + cosx = 1. _Half-heartedly, she began to work through the problem.

The classroom door opened and she looked up. A student she didn't recognize was standing in the doorway. The professor walked over and the teenager whispered something to him, obviously trying not to disturb the class. After a moment, the professor nodded and turned his head to scan the classroom. His eyes fell on Helga.

"Mr. Patterson?" he called out, "Your parents are on the phone for you at the office." Helga blinked in surprise. _My Parents? _Slowly, she stood and headed up through the desks and to the door. _Why would my parents be calling me now? _She wondered as she walked the hallways toward the main office. _Could they have caught Danny and now they want me to come back home? Or… could Danny have caught THEM? _She walked faster at the thought.

Finally, she reached the front desk, and the same kind secretary that had been signed her in on the first day handed her a phone. She put the receiver to her ear. "Hello?"

Instead of Bob or Miriam, it was Officer Fitz's gravelly voice that came from the earpiece. "I have bad news," he said solemnly.

_He couldn't even bother with a 'hello'? _she wondered irritably. "I'm fine, thanks for asking," Helga replied sarcastically.

Instead of apologizing, the officer wasted no time in getting to the point. "Your picture is in the Hillwood newspaper."

She paused, not really comprehending the statement. "What?"

"Your picture, as Henrik Patterson," he explained more slowly, "is in the Hillwood newspaper. Second page."

Utter confusion forced her to be silent for a second before she was finally able to speak. "What is _my picture_ doing in the Hillwood newspaper?" she asked, disbelief still evident in her voice.

"That's what I was going to ask you." There was a pause. "Did you _know_ that you're a finalist in the Yahoo soda nationwide poetry competition?"

Her mouth fell open this time. "_What?!" _Her sudden exclamation was so loud that the nearby secretary jumped.

There was a frustrated sigh on the other line. "If you'd just _told _us you were entering it, we could've pulled the pictures before they were printed or _something_, but now the whole town's seen them and this could very well have breached your cover to Danny. Why didn't you just _tell_ us?"

She stuttered for several seconds before she took a deep breath. "Officer—" she glanced to the secretary, who was obviously paying attention now, "_Dad," _she corrected, "I have NO idea what you're talking about."

"This is no time to joke," he reprimanded, "You may have seriously endangered yourself."

So now she was in danger? "Crimeny!" she exclaimed, "Why does everyone always think I'm joking?" She let out a frustrated sigh before she continued. "I am 100% serious when I say that you're speaking complete gibberish to me."

He paused. "Is it safe to assume that you _didn't _enter the competition, then?"

"No shi—" she glanced to the secretary again, "—uh, no shih tzu… Dad. I want a Pomeranian."

"A Pomeranian?" Came officer Fitz's extremely confused voice, "What are you talking abo—_oh." _There was another pause. "You're not alone, are you?" _Took you long enough, _she silently commented.

"Nope," she said, quickly confirming his conjecture.

He sighed. "Well, do you have any idea how you got entered in the competition? Just answer as best you can."

"I _told _you," said in frustration, "I have no idea! I didn't even know there _was _one! Just _what _is going on?"

"The story is," Officer Fitz began, "that some local kid entered the competition and got into the finals. Yahoo'd just announced them, you know, so they decided to do some big story on it and listed all of the finalists. You're one of them. I'm staring at your picture right this minute."

After a moment she pressed her palm to her forehead. "This makes no sense," she complained.

"Tell me about it," she heard him mutter.

The gravity of some of his earlier statements began to sink in, and she shook head. "Wait, wait, wait, you said something about _danger? _Did Dan—uh, _he _like… figure it out or something?"

"We're… not exactly sure," he reluctantly admitted.

She started to breathe a little faster as questions began to pop up in her mind. What did this mean? Would she have to leave and find yet _another _disguise? "Well… what am I supposed to _do?_" she demanded.

"Right now, it's best for you to stay put. There's no guarantee that he saw it, and even if he did he still might not have recognized you. And even _if _he recognized you, he'd still have to figure out where you are. It's just makes your situation a little more risky."

She scoffed at the statement. "A little more _risky?_"

"Just be careful and you should be fine," he assured her.

A surge of anger went through her. This wouldn't be a problem if they just put him behind bars, like they were _supposed _to. "Here's an idea," she said hotly, "Why don't you guys just do your _job _and _catch _him?"

"We're doing our best," he said, still trying to calm her down but coming off a little cross, "But it's not that simple."

"Well how close _are _you guys?" she demanded.

He let out a breath into the phone. "We really are trying our best, and we've gotten close. But he's too quick, and after that last stunt he pulled—"

"Wait," she interrupted, "What kind of 'stunts' has he been pulling?"

"…he has a tendency to produce…" the next words seemed to be chosen carefully, "…_creative _crime scenes."

'Creative crime scenes'? What was _that _supposed to mean? A sinking feeling began in her chest as a vague intuition told her that it could be nothing good. "What did he do? Did…" she gulped, "Did he hurt someone?"

There was a silence.

"…it was no one you knew."

_Knew? _She wondered, noticing the past tense and beginning to feel a little woozy. "If that's all you had to say," she spoke with her eyes closed, "then I think I'll be going now."

Before she could pull the phone away from her ear, he spoke again. "Actually, there's one more thing that I need to ask you."

Her nerves made her irritable as she replied. What _more _could he have to say? "Well spit it out already."

He hesitated before speaking. "Do the lines '_Will I be forever enslaved by your spell? Why must I worship you and never ever tell?' _mean anything to you?"

The world seemed to tilt sideways and Helga had to grab the table so that she didn't fall over. The recognition she felt at hearing those lines sickened her. Of course she knew them; they'd come from her own hand.

"…you there?" She blinked and realized that he was still talking.

"I'm… yeah," she said dumbly.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

His question was ignored. "How—" she licked her lips and swallowed, finding that her mouth had gone dry, "How do you know those lines? What do they have to do with anything? Did Danny use them?" She didn't care what the secretary heard anymore.

"It's not really something I can talk about—"

"_How do you know them?_" she demanded hoarsely. She willed him to answer her, glaring blindly into the empty space in front of her as if she could intimidate him.

She could almost hear the internal debate that raged in his head, causing him to be silent for some time, but eventually he gave in. "He wrote them… next to the… crime scene."

She translated his words in her head: _He wrote them next to the body. _

"I'm sorry, kid," officer Fitz said quietly, "but I also want you to know…" His words faded in her ears as a wave of dizziness overcame her. _He wrote my words… next to someone he murdered. He was thinking about _me _when he killed someone. _Bile rose up in her throat as Officer Fitz's voice reached her ears again. "…things might look bad now, but just hang in there and it'll all be over soon."

_It'll all be over soon, _his voice repeated in her head with an entirely different meaning. "I'm going now," she said quickly as nausea suddenly overwhelmed her. If she didn't get off the phone _right now_, there was a very high likelihood that she would blow chunks. She moved the phone away from her ear.

"Hey, wait, are you going to be o—" His small voice was cut off when she placed the phone into the cradle. She stood there for a moment and took deep breaths, trying to get her stomach to calm down.

"Are you alright, sweetie?" The voice of the kind secretary startled her and Helga blinked up at the concerned face. "You look a little pale."

Helga nodded and breathed through her nose. "I'm… just going to go back to class now…" she mumbled in a dazed voice and stepped away from the desk. Slowly she began to walk toward the Hallway that would take her back to trigonometry.

"If you're sick, I can sign you out of your classes for the rest of the day," the secretary offered and Helga stopped walking. She imagined what it would be like to go back to class, and try to work, and focus, or do _anything_ right now…

She twisted at the waist, turning back to the secretary. "I… that'd be good."

The kind woman gave her a compassionate smile and nodded. Helga's feet moved then, and several minutes later she found herself in their dorm room, sitting on her bed. She looked around at the room before her with sightless eyes. "_It'll all be over soon…" _Officer Fitz's voice spoke in her head.

Images forced themselves into her mind of terrible things: the lifeless face of some innocent person she didn't know, her words written above them on a wall of some back alley, Danny's smiling face as he grinned down at her picture in the Hillwood newspaper, with his arrogant and hauntingly strange eyes…

She fell back against the sheets, raising up her legs and curling up into a ball.

_He's going to kill me…_

* * *

"Uh, Helga?" Arnold called out when he arrived at their dorm to find Helga pacing the floor. She jumped about a foot and cowered a little before realizing who he was.

With a hand over her heart, she straightened up and let out a breath before scolding him. "Geez, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I've been standing here for a full minute," he said as his face wavered between confusion and concern.

"O-oh," she stammered, realizing that she must've been so wrapped up in her worries that she hadn't even noticed him enter. _Real smart, Helga, _she thought to herself sarcastically, _No psycho is going to sneak up on you with _those _powers of observation. _

Arnold's frown grew. "Helga, are you okay? You weren't at lunch."

"I'm f-fine," she said nervously, "I just… got sick, and they let me take the afternoon off." She laughed nervously and sat down on her bed, wringing her hands. It wasn't really a lie, and what was she supposed to say, anyway? 'Remember that psycho guy who's after me? Well, it turns out that he's quoting my love poetry about you while he kills people, and my cover might be blown, so now I'm terrified that he's going to run through the door and stab me to death'?

"Is something wrong?" he asked, looking worried and ever so slightly suspicious. "You're acting kind of… funny."

She looked up into those beautiful green eyes of his… He was so innocent and selfless with his naive, idealistic view of the world. Did he even acknowledge the existence of the horrible things that had been running through her mind all afternoon? He was always the perpetual optimist, but she could see no bright side to this situation… How would he react to a cloud that did not have a silver lining? Would the eternal flame of the brightest star she knew be dimmed? She wanted to shake her head at the near sacrilege thought, but he was still looking down at her, awaiting an answer. Finally she gave him a weak smile, and resigned to carry this burden herself. "I'm a little queasy, that's all."

"Okay, then…" Arnold said, not entirely convinced, "I hope you feel better soon." Her strange behavior unnerved him. Something was definitely wrong, whether she really was sick or not. He would've expected her to get defensive at his question, or at least throw out an insult or two and say something about invading her privacy… Then again, who was he to complain about _not _getting called names? He shrugged the feeling off and sat down at his desk to get started on some homework. At the other end of the room, Helga got out a book and pretended to read.

* * *

"Hey Henrik, you doing okay?" Gerald hesitantly asked as he watched the individual in question pick at their food.

"I just don't have much of an appetite tonight," Helga replied, not looking up from her dinner. As the evening had worn on, her mood had steadily plummeted. An entire day spent in quiet terror could really take a lot out of you. By now she'd imagined (in great detail) just about every way in which Danny could sneak up and murder her. The sheer number of possibilities was depressing. Her future was looking very bleak, and there seemed to be nothing she could do about it. After spending all day thinking about it, she'd come up with two courses of action. Option one: spend the rest of your life hiding under rocks from some psychopath that wants to cut you up and wait for the police to capture said psycho. Option two: Don't hide and get murdered (and/or tortured). Her untimely death seemed pretty likely in either case.

"Henrik mentioned earlier that he's feeling a bit under the weather," Arnold explained from across the table, staring at her in concern. He'd noticed her sullen (and quite unusual) behavior, and it worried him, but was at a loss for what to do. He suspected that there was more going on, but didn't want to pry. Maybe it was something personal. Or maybe she really was just sick. If there was something he could do to help, she'd tell him, right? Still, he couldn't help sending her worried glances as he and Gerald made small talk through the rest of their dinner.

After the two had walked Gerald to his room, Arnold's worry overcame his desire to be polite, and he turned to look at Helga as they walked. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm just tired," she replied as they opened the door to their room and stepped in, "But thanks for worrying about me."

Arnold paused as he shut the door behind them. '_Thanks for worrying'?_ Okay, now he _knew _that something else was wrong. He turned to her with a frown. "Helga, are you _positive _that there's nothing I can do to help you?"

She stared at him for a moment as if she was seriously contemplating something. Finally, she spoke. "Yeah, actually, there is…" So there _was _something else wrong! His instincts had been right! He waited in anticipation as she took another breath to speak. "…could you lock the door?"

"Oh," he said, blinking a little in surprise, "Sure…" As he performed the action, she started digging in her bag.

"I'm going to head to bed now," she announced, bathroom supplies in hand.

Arnold glanced to the clock and gaped at her a little. "But—it's 7:15!"

"So what?" She raised her voice and Arnold was actually a little _relieved _to see her characteristic scowl form on her face. "It's a free country; I can go to bed whenever I want!"

He shook his head as she disappeared in to the bathroom. At least she was acting _a little _more normal…

But as Helga slid under her covers, she felt anything but normal. Her hope had been that if she fell asleep, she could escape from her fear, but instead sleep evaded her and she was forced to sit there with nothing to occupy her mind. All she could see when she closed her eyes was Danny's grinning face, and so she kept having to open her eyes to reassure herself that he was not actually standing above her with a knife. The sight of Arnold bent over his desk and wrapped up in his studies comforted her, that is until several hours passed and he went to bed as well. With the lights off, and Arnold in bed, her imagination went wild. It could've been minutes, or hours, or days that she sat there and waited for something to come out of darkness and grab her. Eventually, though, fatigue won over fear, and she slowly drifted off. A blue and moldy green gaze chased her all the way into unconsciousness.

* * *

Arnold woke to the sound of whimpering. He looked around in a panic for several seconds before realizing that the sound was coming from the other side of the room, from Helga's bed… In the dim light, he could just barely see her thrashing around in her bed. _She must be having a nightmare, _he realized. He glanced at the clock. It was just past 5 am. He turned his attention back to her and even as he watched, her almost violent thrashing grew in intensity. A frown formed on his face. At this rate, if he didn't do something she might hurt herself.

With his mind made up, he threw off of his covers and placed his feet on the floor. As he crossed the space to reach her bed, he quickly realized that she was muttering in her sleep as well. Most of it was unintelligible, but here and there he caught bits and pieces. She appeared to be arguing, or perhaps _pleading _with someone in her sleep… The sight of her crying out again in her sleep distressed him, and he hurried to her bedside. As he stood over her, he reached out to grab her shoulder and shook it a little. "Helga," he whispered, "You're having a nightmare; Wake up!" When she did not stir, he sat down on her bed to grip both of her shoulders and gave them a firm shake. "Helga," he repeated, louder this time, "Wake up!"

She blinked into wakefulness and stared up at him with wild eyes, pupils dilated. "Arnold," her voice cracked, "You're—" she choked, and the next thing he knew she had her arms around his waist, and they'd fallen off the bed, taking some of the sheets with them. He could feel her hands fisted in the back of his shirt as she clung to him in desperation. For a moment all he could do was just stare down at her and listen to her uneven breathing. He felt something wet where her face was pressed against his stomach, and realized with a jolt that it was from her _tears. _Slowly, his hands found their way to awkwardly wrap around her trembling form; it seemed like the right thing to do when someone was crying in your lap. The damp spot on his shirt spread and he tried patting her back, wanting to help her but not really knowing how. The entire situation was completely bewildering; first her odd behavior this afternoon, and now this…

"Are you okay?" he asked and immediately felt stupid, because the answer was obviously no. "What's wrong?" he quickly added before she could answer.

It was several seconds before he heard her muffled response. "He—he hurt you—_cut_ you and I couldn't…" A shudder passed through her and he blinked down surprise. _She was dreaming about me? _He wondered.

"Helga, it's okay, I'm fine. No one's hurt me," he assured, only growing more confused by the minute.

Upon hearing him say her name again, the fear induced fog in her head slowly began to fade. As his hands continued their small, awkward pats, she came to several realizations: Firstly, they were in a mostly dark room, though it was steadily getting lighter. Secondly, she was crying, and pretty hard at that. Third, and most importantly, her face was pressed against Arnold's stomach, because she'd managed to throw herself at him several minutes earlier. She forced her hands to unclench, letting go of his shirt, and pushed herself up and out of his lap. Once sitting up, she quickly scooted away, angry at herself for letting him see her so pathetically vulnerable (and, deeper down, worried about what that would make him think of her).

He stared, mouth slightly agape, as she backed away from him until her back ran into her bed. She wiped at her face and leaned away from him. _So one minute she's crying in my lap, _he thought in confusion,_ and the next she can't stand to be near me?_

"Helga," he finally managed out, "What _happened_?"

"It was—was just a bad dream, football head," She weakly tried to sound like her normal blustery self, but the fact that she was still crying kind of made that difficult. "So you don't need to—don't bother trying to…" She withdrew a shaky breath and tried to run a hand through her hair. In the process, she managed to knock the wig off of her head. She let out a despondent groan as it fell to the floor and put her face in her hands. He watched as she drew her knees up to her chest and let out several ragged breaths.

"Helga…" he said again slowly, "I've known you for a long time, and in all of that time I've _never _seen you so… so… _upset,_" he settled on the word, though he felt it didn't really do the situation justice, "So either you randomly had a dream that made you, well…" He briefly touched the still damp spot on his shirt, "…like _this, _or there's something else bothering you." When she stayed silent, he tried again. "I want to help you, but I _can't _unless I know what's going on." He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to face this alone; I told you that already." She turned her face away, and his grip on her shoulder tightened. "Helga, I'm sorry," he said in frustration, "But if you say that it's nothing, I'm not going to believe you. Now stop pushing me away, and let me _help _you!"

He stared at her and waited for a response. After a moment, she let out a large breath, slid her hands off of her face and looked at him. "_Okay,_" she sniffled, much to his surprise, "But I don't see how you can help."

His eyes softened a little now that he could see her face. He could just make out her puffy eyes in the growing light, the tears casting a shine over their blue. "Just try me," he gently encouraged.

"Alright," she said with a gulp before beginning her story in a shaky voice, "I… got a call today from the police back in Hillwood. They said that my picture—as Henrik—is in the Hillwood newspaper."

Arnold frowned. "But what's your picture doing in the Hillwoo—"

"I don't know!" She shouted, interrupting him. After several deep breaths to steady herself, she leaned her forehead on her hand and continued with her eyes closed. "He said it was for some stupid Yahoo National Poetry competition thing that I somehow made the finals of. And before you ask, I DO NOT know how I got into that one, either."

He was quiet for a moment before he couldn't resist asking the question that'd been in his mind since she'd first woken him up. "So… your nightmare was about Danny, then?" When she didn't respond to him and only continued to sit there with her eyes closed, he worried that he'd pushed too far. It looked like she'd stopped crying for the most part, but she had been _very _upset just now… "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he quickly added. His arm, which had still been resting on her shoulder, slid off as he attempted to give her space (if that was what she wanted).

As soon as he'd lost the contact, she shivered and moved her hands away from her eyes to wrap around her knees. Unbeknownst to him, that comforting grip on her shoulder had been the only thing keeping the horrific images of her nightmare from returning to her mind. She stared at the floor in front of her, a little afraid to blink. "I dreamed…" she began slowly, "…that he…" She continued to gaze at the floor, but had she looked up she would have seen that Arnold had gone very still, eyes locked on her as he listened, "…he hurt you, and used the bl—the bloo—" She gulped. He was a alive and well; Why was it so hard to say? "…used… _it_ to write… _things, _and I c-couldn't s-st-_stop_ him…" Her mouth didn't want to work, but she forced the words to come out. "…b-because I was already dead."

In dread, her eyes moved up to his face, fearing how disturbed her explanation must have made him. And indeed, when his face finally came into view he truly looked horrified, his mouth slightly open and his eyes (those beautiful green ones that she was sure she'd just corrupted…) had gone wide. But then his eyebrows tilted up, and he blinked. It took her a second, in her surprise and anxiety, to recognize the emotion so clearly displayed in his features: compassion. "Helga… that's… that's _terrible._" And then, to her continued surprise, compassion changed into disappointment and even a little bit of anger. "Why didn't you _tell _me about this?" he demanded, "You didn't have to go scare yourself half to death worrying about it all alone!"

"I-I thought…" she stammered, still in slight shock, "I thought that you'd be… I dunno, traumatized or something…"

He frowned and sent her a stern look. "I think I'd be a lot more traumatized if my friend _died _because she didn't tell me what was going on. Don't you realize how _dangerous _that was?" When she just gave him a confused look at his question, he crawled over and sat next to her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, perplexed.

"I want you to tell me everything you know about this guy and everything that's happened to you so far." He looked over at her and folded his arms.

She shook her head, not trying to argue but still lost. "But… why?"

"I'm the only one here who knows about you. As far as I've heard, the police haven't exactly been keeping tabs on you, given that they just called you _now_. You could've been abducted and gone for weeks and if I didn't say anything, _no one _would know that _you _were really missing! If this guy is as bad as you seem to think he is, then he very well could find you before they catch him. Should anything actually happen, then _I'm_ going to be the _only_ one who can respond fast enough. The _only _one." He gave her a challenging look, but she didn't argue. "So I need to know everything you can tell me about this Danny guy, your situation here, and who I can talk to if something goes wrong." She blinked in awe, slightly impressed by his logic. It had never occurred to her that keeping Arnold in the loop would be _safer. _And his bright, optimistic nature didn't seem to be tarnished in the slightest… If anything, it was even stronger. He was handling this news incredibly well. To say she was shocked would be an understatement. "Well?" he asked after she had been silent for a few seconds.

Once she had shaken herself out of her stupor, she slowly began to go over everything she could remember regarding her situation (although she carefully avoided mentioning her missing pink books). She kept an eye on his face while she explained, examining his expression carefully and waiting for the look of horror to return. He frowned and looked a little disturbed when she mentioned the murder that Officer Fitz had told her about, but his face returned to a calm, but determined expression shortly after. When she'd finished, she shook her head a little, astounded. "Well Mr. Goodie-two-shoes, I don't know _how _you expect to fix this one."

He gave her a comforting smile. "We treat it like any other problem, Helga. If we're careful, and approach it rationally, then I'm sure it'll end up just fine." She had to chuckle a little at that classic "Arnold-ism" before a wave of emotional fatigue overwhelmed her. Her body felt strangely tired and she slumped to the side, near where Arnold sat. Realizing her proximity to him, she debated whether she should push herself away, lest he get suspicious. But at the same time, the potential opportunity was _so _tantalizing…

Ever so cautiously, Helga allowed herself to lean against his shoulder. After all, she wasn't balling her eyes out anymore and he might push her away… But she felt so drained, and she so badly wanted to rest against his comforting warmth…

Arnold did not push her away, but instead reached up and patted her upper back, causing her head to slip to his shoulder. It was an obvious "friend zone" pat, but that didn't stop it from making her heart pound. "You'll be okay," he said in a reassuring voice and rested his hand on the ground behind her. She closed her eyes, relaxing into him and trying to savor this rare moment…

_BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP!_

She jumped away from him at the jarring, high pitched noise. They both eyed each other a little in surprise as Arnold's alarm clock continued to sound in the background, suddenly noticing the light of day that had managed to sneak up around them. Finally, Arnold stood and walked over to the dresser where the small, obnoxious object sat, and switched it off.

"I guess we talked the rest of the night away…" he commented in the silence that followed.

"I-I guess we did, heh, heh," she laughed nervously, but wasn't sure why. In the light of day, the drama of the night seemed almost surreal.

"I guess I'll go take a shower, then," he said awkwardly and started walking towards the bathroom. He paused after a couple of steps, though and turned to her. "Will you be okay?" he asked hesitantly.

She nodded as she reached for her wig. "I think I'm just fine now…" It felt strange to talk about. "I mean, sheesh, Football head," she added in an effort to ease the tension, "You're not my babysitter. I think I can handle being alone for ten minutes."

His head tilted ever so slightly to the side, a small smile coming to his face. "Good," he said, and headed into the bathroom. He shot her a glance before he disappeared, and within that glance she caught a glimmer of insight that had not been there before. His eyes had held a new insight, and it made her a bit nervous. Perhaps she had revealed a little too much… She made a mental note to figure out exactly what was going on in that football shaped head of his. For now, though, she just leaned back against her bed and rested her eyes. Given how it had started, she was pretty sure that it would be a long day.

**F/N:**

Just in case anyone's unfamiliar with it (I know I didn't know the spelling until I looked it up) a Shih tzu is a breed of dog. Hope this chapter wasn't too morbid for anyone, but I wanted to impress the seriousness of their situation. Thanks for reading! :)


	16. Good Intentions

**A/N:**

Chapter 16 is finally here! I'm very sorry for the long wait, but it was pretty unavoidable. I had hoped to have this chapter up by last weekend, but it wasn't quite done and I ran out of time. Unfortunately, it will probably be a while before the next chapter is up, too (darn college!). In case anyone is curious, I think we're somewhere between five to nine chapters before the end… it depends on how things fit. When I get a longer break (my next long break will probably be midway through December) the chapters should start coming fairly quickly again. In the mean time I'll do my best. I'm excited for some of the chapters to come. They should have some interesting plot developments. ;-) Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter!

**Chapter 16: **

**Good Intentions **

"…So try and be around someone at all times," Arnold finished as they walked towards their morning classes. Helga rolled her eyes, having heard this for about the third time. Apparently he was taking this whole "help Helga not get killed" thing seriously. It'd started immediately after she had finished her shower that morning. She'd assumed that they'd finished talking about everything, but she was wrong. Arnold had marched in the moment she'd opened the bathroom door and begun pacing the floor, brainstorming various plans of action that he'd come up with while he waited for her.

He'd continued to surprise her as the morning went on, mentioning several things that she hadn't actually thought of. One of his most unexpected suggestions had been that sheactually try to research Danny _herself. _"If this guy's after you," he'd said as they walked toward breakfast, "Then we should try to find out as much as we can about him. Maybe we'll find something that helps, maybe we won't. But it's worth a try." She'd just been about to ask about _how _exactly they were supposed to find this information when they met up with Gerald, and the conversation was put on hold.

After breakfast, they'd managed to separate from Gerald and Arnold had gone straight back into his little "plan". As they neared the junction at which they would separate, she did grow a little nervous, though not nearly as much as she would have expected.

Despite the fact that danger still lingered overhead, most of her fears from the previous day had disappeared now that Arnold was in on it. The burden really was lighter, now that she had someone to share it with, and hearing his rational approach to her problem somehow made it seem less serious. Maybe there was a reason that Arnold always wanted to talk things out…

"Aw shucks," she said sarcastically as they slowed to a stop, "Does that mean that I'll have to stop those late night walks in dark alleys?"

Unfazed, Arnold gave her a serious look. "If we're going to beat this thing, we've got to take it seriously."

_He's trying to solve everyone else's problems again, _she realized. After spending most of her life taking care of her problems her _own _way, it was strange to have Arnold so actively working on them. It was wonderful and exciting and made her heart flutter while also being just a tiny bit annoying. She was, after all, new to being the primary focus of Arnold's attention.

Though he'd helped her in the past, she'd rarely been one of his charity cases. Usually, her harsh demeanor prevented him from getting close enough to see that anything was wrong. But this morning was different. Yes, he was helping her, but it was more than that. She'd opened up to him, given him part of the control. He'd seen her vulnerable, and now it was like he _knew _something. And whatever that something was, it made her feel _very _exposed.

She shook her head, pushing her fears away for now. Arnold was still looking at her, awaiting a response to see if she understood. "Football head… It's nice that you're trying to help and all, but I think I can figure _some _of this out on my own."

There was that knowing look again, just like the one he'd given her earlier that morning.

She turned and started to walk away towards her class, nervous and wanting to escape his suddenly all too perceptive eyes. "Later, Arnoldo."

Arnold reached out and caught her arm, pulling her back a little and leaning in close to her ear. "And Helga?" He whispered quietly so that the students around them couldn't hear, "If something actually should happen…" His breathy words tickled her neck and sent little shivers down her spine. "…then come find me and we'll work through it _together, _okay?"

She gulped and nodded as he pulled away, her heart pounding in her ears.

He sent her a smile before he turned to go to his own class. "I'll see you later," he said as she watched him walk away. After several deep breaths, Helga finally collected herself enough to start walking again, her insides a confusing mess.

* * *

By lunch time the high emotions of the morning had worn off, giving way to both physical and emotional fatigue. Both Arnold and Helga had been awake since five, and neither had gotten much sleep. The after effects were clearly showing now as they sagged against the lunch table.

Gerald looked curiously between the two very tired people facing him (who were, he noticed, sitting next to each other again). "What's up with you two?" he asked, "Pull an all-nighter or something?"

"We just didn't get much sleep," Arnold answered with his eyes closed. At Gerald's snicker he opened them to send his friend a glare.

Gerald cleared his throat in an attempt to silence his laughter. "Anyway," he continued on with an amused smile, "Are you excited for Gladiators on Ice this weekend? I've heard that this is their best show yet!"

Arnold blinked a little, slowly pushing off some of his fatigue. "Gladiators on Ice…?" he repeated in a confused haze for several seconds until the memory of the tickets that he and Gerald had purchased several weeks earlier came to him. "Oh. _Oh!_ That's _this _weekend?" He finally exclaimed.

"_Yeah _that's this weekend! Man, how could you _forget_?"

He opened his mouth to reply, only to shut it again as he realized that he didn't have much of an answer to his friend's question. How had he forgotten? They'd been psyched about this from the moment they'd found out about it four weeks earlier. Hesitantly, Arnold finally spoke up. "I… guess I just got distracted."

"Anyway," Gerald continued, ignoring his friend's weak explanation, "So I found out yesterday that Sid's not going to be able to come."

"Sid can't go?" Arnold leaned forward, surprised by this information. "But we've already bought the tickets!"

"He said that he had to go to his Grandmother's Bridal shower or something."

Arnold spoke very slowly, his eyebrows raised to extraordinary new heights. "…His _Grandmother's Bridal shower?" _

Gerald shook his head in complete agreement, disbelief evident on his face. "I know, Man, I know."

"Maybe we can find someone else to go," Arnold suggested after a moment of silence. Several seconds later his face lit up. "Hey, Gerald, what if we brought Hel—" He had an unexpected coughing fit, "—Henrik?"

Gerald raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You want to bring _him?_"

"Sure," Arnold responded enthusiastically, "Why not? I'm sure that he'd just spend the weekend here, anyway, if we didn't invite him." _And, _he realized, _If we don't take her and I go, she'll be alone the entire time… _Worry sprouted in him as thought of Danny finding her while she was on her own popped into his head. He quickly turned to the girl beside him to get her opinion. "Hey Henrik, what—oh."

Gerald looked at Arnold skeptically, his eyes eventually shifting to the oblivious Helga beside him. She'd given up trying to look awake a long time ago and currently had her head lying face down between her arms. "Hey, Henrik," Gerald called out, trying to get the person in question's attention. Helga didn't budge. He tried again a little louder. "Hey, Henrik." Still there was no response. Arnold was about to tap Helga on the shoulder himself when Gerald slapped a hand on her wrist and shouted, "_YO HENRIK, WAKE UP!" _

Helga shot up in her seat, her eyes wide and darting around the room. "Whatsgoingon?!"

Arnold gently placed hand on her shoulder to try and calm her down. "It's okay," he assured, "We just wanted to get your attention." He looked back to Gerald and saw his slightly narrowed eyes move from Arnold's hand to his face. Arnold removed his hand, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Yes," Gerald agreed, his gaze remaining there a split second longer before shifting back to "Henrik", who had now stopped having a near heart attack. "Arnold here has a question for you."

"Um, right, I did." Arnold cleared his throat and turned back to Helga. "So Gerald and I were going to go to see Gladiators on Ice this weekend, and we have an extra ticket. How would you feel about joining us?"

She blinked at him for several seconds, sending some silent message through her eyes that he didn't understand. "That's… nice, of you two, but I've got… a lot of homework to do. I'll be too busy. Sorry."

Arnold frowned. Didn't she understand what staying here alone would mean? "But Henrik…" He tried again, "…if I'm gone for the weekend, you'll be… um, so _lonely, _won't you?" He attempted to give her a meaningful look.

To his surprise, Helga's face flushed at his question. When she spoke though, her voice was steady. "My _loneliness _hasn't been a problem every weekend before this. I think I'll be just fine for one more."

"But…" He tried to think of a way to be more clear. She'd seen the danger last night and this morning; why didn't she see it now? "Given how… _sensitive _your, um, situation has been recently, don't you think—"

"Wait," Gerald interrupted with an amused look on his face, "Did he break up with his boyfriend or something?"

Two sets of eyes glared at him.

"Gerald!"

"Okay," Helga added after Arnold's reprimand, "I'm _definitely _not going after that comment."

Arnold whipped around to face her. "But—"

"But nothing. I don't want to go, and Mr. Nosy over here is just going to have to live with that explanation." More quietly, she added, "If not, then you can ask me when we're _alone._"

Unfortunately, Gerald had sharp hearing. "Hey, if you two lovebirds need some privacy I'm totally okay with that."

"_Gerald!" _Both voices joined in this time.

"I'll take that as a yes," Gerald replied, and, with barely contained laughter grabbed his trey and left the table.

Helga scowled as Gerald disappeared through the doors cafeteria doors, a blush still staining her cheeks. "He really hasn't dropped that whole 'smokin the salami' thing yet, has he?"

"Nevermind that," Arnold said, ignoring his own blush, "Why didn't you agree to go with us? It can't be a good idea to leave you alone here all weekend."

She looked at him seriously. "Arnold, would it _really _be a good idea to take me back to Hillwood right now? I can't even go back to my house until they catch Danny."

"Well…" He looked away in thought. "I'm sure there's an extra room at the boarding house that I could convince Grandpa to lend you. I think he could keep it a secret, but if you're concerned about it… I could just say you're my roommate." When he looked back to her, her entire demeanor had changed: her eyes had gone wide, her head tilted slightly downward as she looked over at him and her hands clasped timidly in her lap. Her thumbs twiddled nervously.

"You'd… You'd do that for me?" She asked shyly.

"Of course," He replied when he'd finally managed to wipe the shocked look of his face. "What are friends for?"

He sent her a friendly smile, and then watched as she vigorously shook her head. When she stopped, the scowl had returned and the shy girl who had been looking at him was gone. "T-that doesn't matter, football face. The point is that there's a psychotic killer on the loose, in case you forgot, and it just so happens that _Hillwood _is where he was last known to be. Crimeny, football head, the whole reason I came here in the first place was to be far, far away from Hillwood and anyone who might recognize me!"

"Oh," Arnold said quietly, gazing downward and feeling slightly foolish, "I guess I wasn't really thinking about that…"

"That's right, you _weren't _thinking," Helga added. Arnold was a little surprised at the forcefulness of her voice. He glanced up and caught a nervous glint to her eye just before she turned her head away. Something whispered in the back of his mind that it wasn't Danny that was making her nervous. "Let's just get to class before we're late," she mumbled as she grabbed her trey and stood.

After disposing of his own trey, Arnold caught up to her and they both headed toward Biology.

* * *

After he'd finished his final class, Arnold came straight back to their room and began discussing more "safety ideas". He'd had a new idea about how to handle her staying over the weekend alone. Two words in, however, Helga interrupted him.

"Arnold, it's been a long day. For both of us. Can you do me a solid and _not _talk about this right now?"

At the tired sound of her voice, Arnold turned around from where he'd been pacing the floor to observe her for the first time since he'd come in. She was lying on her bed, one arm beneath her head and the other rubbing her puffy eyes groggily. "Helga…" he said hesitantly, "…were you sleeping when I came in?"

"Before you decided to start that little lecture, I might have been." Her voice was still hoarse with sleep. It was also several octaves higher than he'd expected it to be. She must've taken out her retainer.

"I'm sorry," he said with a surge of guilt.

She waved her hand at him, dismissing his apology. "Don't sweat it."

Still feeling bad for waking her up, he grabbed his homework and sat down at his desk to give her some privacy. "You can go back to sleep, if you want. I'll just be doing my homework." Several minutes passed while he continued to study.

"Hey Arnold?" He was surprised to hear her sound more awake than she had before, having assumed that she'd fallen back asleep.

"Yeah?" he answered, not looking up from his homework.

There was a pause before she spoke. "What is your last name?"

Arnold did turn to her now, his eyebrows shooting up high on his forehead. "You've known me for _how _long, and you don't even know my _last name?_"

She pushed herself into a sitting position and folded her arms, frowning at him. "Oh don't give me that. You must've noticed that there's something up with your last name. NO ONE knows it; it's not just me. I'm starting to wonder if you even have one."

"That's ridiculous," he scoffed, "Plenty of people know me by my last name."

"No, they don't," she said while shaking her head, "Because you're never called by it, and through all the time that I've known you, every _single _time someone is about it say it, something goes wrong. It's like a law of nature."

She couldn't honestly expect him to believe that. How could she not even know his last name? He found himself rolling his eyes. "That's not true."

"Yes, it _is." _She looked dead serious.

"Alright," he said, raising a challenging eyebrow, "Name five specific examples."

With a confident expression, she straightened up and began listing them off on her fingers. "When you won that one raffle in the fourth grade, there was a smudge over your last name and the announcer couldn't read it. The phone book doesn't list your last name because you live at the boarding house. When they ran that article in the newspaper after you saved the neighborhood, they ran out of space and your last name got cut off. In the sixth grade when Principal Wartz called you down to the office, he lost his voice right before he said your last name. In all of the classes I've had with you, _none _of the teachers have bothered to call you by your last name. And don't even get me started on the year books. This year, there was a printing error over your last name in every copy. _Every single _copy, no joke. I checked. The year before that they accidentally left out the entire page. Freshman year supposedly had a complete book, but every copy that I tried to get my hands on either caught fire or had a hole drilled in it or fell in a lake… And your outgoing mail always just has your first name, so it's not like I could've gotten it from there—"

"How do you know that?" Arnold interrupted, looking slightly disturbed. "Did you... read my mail or something?"

Helga instantly flushed bright red, cursing herself for letting her mouth run. "Uh, n-no, of course not… you, um, you mailed something in front of me once," she feebly lied.

He wasn't convinced. "That's a pretty small detail to notice for having seen me mail something _once_. And you remember all of those other things too?"

"I'm a very observant person, okay?" She glared at him in an attempt to hide her nervousness.

Arnold didn't push the subject, but looked at her warily, cocking his head to the side. After a few seconds he added, "Seems like you've put a lot of effort into figuring out my last name."

"W-well…" she stammered, "It, uh, j-just…. annoys me that it's so… mysterious."

He eyed her skeptically before shaking his head, his expression turning amused. "Well, if you're that curious, I'll just tell you. My full name is Arnold—"

There was a knock on their door and he stopped speaking. Helga initially froze, but then burst into action, turning toward the dresser that she thought she'd placed her retainer on. She did NOT want a repeat of the situation that had happened with Gerald. However, when she looked for the small device, it was nowhere to be found. She groaned in frustration. If this kept happening she'd have to attach a bell to the stupid thing…

The knock at the door came again. Whoever they were, they weren't going away. Quickly she whipped her head around to Arnold. "Figure out who it is and _stall him!_" she ordered and then got down on her hands and knees to search for the elusive object. She heard Arnold get up and open the door as she began patting the floor all around her bed.

"Oh, hello _Mr. Volker,_" came Arnold's intentionally loud voice from the hallway, "What can I do for you today?"

"I need to speak with Mr. Patterson. If you would either step aside or get him for me, that would be much appreciated."

"He's, uh," she could hear the nervousness in Arnold's voice, "…actually not feeling very well, Mr. Volker…"

"It is very important that I speak with him, now either get him or let me through!" Oh boy. Sounded like he was getting angry.

"I don't think that'd be a very good idea—"

"Young man, step aside this instant!"

There was a pause in the conversation and the next sounds that came to her sounded almost like a scuffle, and then there were footsteps…

She could feel their eyes before she looked, but she slowly turned anyway. What she found was a very angry Mr. Volker glaring down his nose at her with his arms folded, and a very sheepish looking Arnold standing behind him.

"What on earth are you doing on the floor?" Mr. Volker demanded. She stood up slowly and dusted herself off, stalling for time and looking to Arnold helplessly. The ornery teacher crossed his arms. "Well?"

Her mouth flapped soundlessly and she lifted her shoulders, backed into a corner. And then…

"He can't talk to you, Mr. Volker, because…" All eyes shifted to Arnold now. "…he lost his voice."

It was the truth, she realized. It was also one of the most beautiful things she'd ever heard come out of his mouth. If Mr. Volker hadn't been there, and she hadn't been trying to hide her feelings from him for well over ten years, she might've kissed him. Mr. Volker looked at her suspiciously. "Are you telling me that this young man, who read out loud just fine in my class this morning, has laryngitis?…"

"It came on very suddenly just this afternoon," Arnold explained, "I was with him when it happened." His eyes met Helga's. They looked back to Mr. Volker as he started talking again. He sounded irritated, but still had a determined look to his eyes.

"Very well, Mr. Patterson. There are still urgent matters that I must inform you of, whether you can speak or not." He looked down to Arnold. "If you would be kind enough to wait outside, young man, this won't take long."

Arnold looked uncomfortable. "But… it's my room…"

Mr. Volker grew more annoyed. "That is correct. And you will get it back as soon as I am done discussing these private matters with Mr. Patterson here. Now scurry along, or I may feel inclined to report that little stunt you pulled in the hallway." Arnold glanced uneasily between Mr. Volker and Helga before he slowly walked to the door and exited the room. Helga couldn't help but wonder what exactly Arnold had done to stop Mr. Volker in the hallway.

The door closed and Mr. Volker's attention shifted to Helga. "You may want to sit down for what I'm about to tell you." He waited for her to sit.

Helga remained standing.

A silence passed.

Eventually, he decided to ignore her insolence and started pacing the room. "This would have been much easier if you had done as I had requested and met me in my office. I don't normally make a habit of visiting my students in their dormitories." He paused and looked at her as if he expected a response. She raised both her eyebrows and pointed to her throat.

He sighed and turned to face her. "However, I would be obliged if you would be kind enough to not mention what I am about to tell you to any of your peers or the rest of the faculty. I have done something irresponsible. Despite your frequently offensive attitude, I have recognized from your first day in my class that you have talent. But you were squandering your potential, and I… may have taken matters into my own hands." Volker, normally being such a towering figure of authority and condescension, looked down to the floor, unable to meet her eyes. "As an educator I am ashamed to admit that I took your work, without your permission, and submitted it to a national poetry competition. You may or may not have heard of it; Yahoo soda is sponsoring it. I did not expect anything to come of it, but last week I was informed that you had made it to the finals, and I realized that you must be notified."

Helga stumbled backwards a few steps until she ran into the dresser. _The Yahoo Soda Nationwide Poetry competition? _He took in her shocked expression, and continued. "Do you, then, wonder how it is that I could do such a thing? There are many talented individuals in my class. Why, out of so many potential students, would I choose you?" The old man paused, and a humble tone crept into his voice for the first time. His eyes softened ever so slightly. "True performance poetry is a dying art, my dear. Even I must admit that you have a gift; it would have been a crime to pass it up."

Her nails dug into the dresser wood. He was complimenting her. He _actually _thought that by going behind her back and signing her up, he'd been helping her. She so badly wanted to chew him out, to spit out the most venomous insults and foul mouthed names she knew. But with Henrik's voice uselessly lost somewhere in the room, speaking would only put her in more danger. So she bit her tongue and tried to murder him with her eyes instead.

Mr. Volker straightened up and the stern look came back to his face. "Don't neglect this opportunity, Mr. Patterson. I've taken a risk on you, and I don't wish to regret it." He turned to go, but just as he reached the door he added one last comment. "Oh, and rest up that voice, young man. I expect you to be ready to read your next poem in the next round of the poetry tournament." With that, she watched him leave. Arnold rushed in several seconds later.

"What was that about?" he asked as he walked over to her. "I listened at the door, but I couldn't make much out. Is everything okay?" His face grew worried as she shook her head, her face flushed and the muscles in her jaw tight. "Helga?"

She pushed herself off the dresser and began to pace around the room. "It was him. It was _him."_

"What was him?"

She reached the opposite end of the room and looped back, making wild gestures with her hands as she talked. "It was _him, _Arnold, Volker! _Volker_ was the one who submitted my work to the Yahoo poetry competition. It's _his _fault that my picture got in the newspaper!"

"Wait, what?" Arnold's eyes tried to follow her as she paced around the room, but she was moving so much that it was difficult.

"He _stole _my poetry and gave it to them, all because he thinks that I'm the next big thing in performance poetry or something! That—that geriatric old fart! Pompous bastard! He didn't even _ask _me! I don't think that's even _legal." _She changed directions again. "Wait, it's _not _legal, is it? If I told someone about this… he could probably lose his job." The fire in her eyes took on a devious sparkle. "That would serve him right… especially if I end up dead over this whole thing." A dry snort. "But that wouldn't work, because it'd only attract attention to my situation… If only there was some way to let them know what he did without putting my own situation in the spotlight… Maybe I could frame him for something…" She stopped in the middle of the room to think, and suddenly Arnold appeared in front of her.

In a few short steps he'd crossed the distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. His touch sent an electric jolt through her, calming the fiery rage which had possessed her. "_Helga." _He said sternly, his green eyes locking with hers. "This information doesn't change anything. Whatever damage he's done, it's already happened. We already knew about it, and trying to go on some big revenge scheme isn't going to help things. So _calm down." _

"I…." For a moment she was caught in his eyes, set adrift in an emerald sea… She forced herself back into reality, her anger significantly diminished. "…Okay, yeah, I might've been freaking out a bit there."

He removed his hands and sent her a comforting smile. "It's alright. You're under a lot of stress right now, so it makes sense. But hurting Volker would be wrong. What he did was wrong, but he didn't know that it would put you in danger."

She took a breath and let it out. "Well then, Saint Arnold, what's the morally correct way to deal with this?"

"Well," he began, "There really isn't anything to do about Volker. Like I said before, that damage is done and now we just have to make the best of the situation. But I've been thinking, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone this weekend…"

She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Arnold, we already debunked that theory. Taking me with you and Gerald is a terrible idea."

"I know," Arnold replied, nodding. "That's why I've got to stay here for the weekend instead."


	17. Catalysts

**A/N:**

Hello all! I'm VERY sorry for the long wait. It took longer to write this one than I thought it would. On the bright side, this chapter is ginormous (nearly 8,000 words!). I almost split it into two chapters, but in my mind this part is all grouped together, and I wanted it to give it to you guys that way. Hopefully the next chapter will come out quicker; it's definitely going to be shorter. Now without further delay, here is chapter 17! Hope you enjoy! :-)

**Chapter 17:**

**Catalysts **

"Wait," Helga said, not comprehending what had just come out of the football headed teenager's mouth, "What?"

"I'm going to stay here with you for the weekend," Arnold explained simply. "I'll call Grandpa tonight and tell him not to pick me up."

"But—you can't!" she exclaimed. "That's a terrible idea!" _Alone with Arnold all weekend? _As wonderful as that sounded, he'd been seeing too much lately. Either it was her imagination (and she was pretty sure it wasn't) or he was starting to catch on to the fact that she didn't really hate him.

"I can't just leave you alone here when there's a killer on the loose," Arnold replied with a frown.

"I've been _fine _every weekend before this. I can take care of myself, and I'll be in the middle of a school anyway. What's going happen? And besides," she added hastily, "I don't want to spend my whole weekend with a football headed weirdo like you."

His face turned sly and he looked at her through half-raised lids. "Oh, come on Helga. We both know that you don't hate me as much as you say you do."

She sputtered and felt herself flush. This was _exactly _what she'd been worried about. "I—O-of course I—I've always hated—" He raised an eyebrow. She let out a frustrated growl and started again. "If I say I hate you, then I hate you and that's how it is. Got it, bucko?" With that she put her hands on her hips and sent him the most intimidating glare she could muster.

The corner of his mouth had been steadily quirking upward as she talked. "Whatever you say, Helga," he replied with obvious humor in his eyes.

This wasn't getting her anywhere. Actually, it was getting to be downright dangerous. And Arnold was being _far _too bold. What had gotten into him?! Not hating him as much as she said she did didn't _exactly _equate to 'You're in love with me and we both know it', but it was pretty darn close. Crimeny, why had she told him the truth all of those years ago? The focus of this conversation needed to be changed, and fast. An idea sprang to mind. "What about Gladiators on Ice? Weren't you and Gerald, well, I don't know, pissing yourselves with excitement?" Now _that _got the sly look off of his face….

He cringed, obviously disappointed but resolved to his decision. "Making sure that my friend stays alive is more important than that," he admitted and sent her a sad smile. Oh great, now she felt guilty…

"Arnold…" she began more gently, "Really, I'll be okay. Go to Gladiators on Ice."

He shook his head, his face stern. "Helga, I'm staying. I've made up my mind and you're not going to change it."

"And how do you plan on breaking this to Gerald?"

Arnold's eyes widened before letting out a groan and putting a hand over his face. "I guess I'll have to tell him tonight at dinner…"

Helga barked out a short laugh. "Well this should be interesting…"

* * *

It was unusually quiet as they ate that evening. Helga was silent because she had yet to find her retainer (she was going to turn the room upside down tonight to find it), and so she was continuing the act of having lost her voice. Meanwhile, Arnold was busy having an intense internal debate about what to tell Gerald as to why he couldn't go to Gladiators on Ice. So far, the best he'd come up with was that he either had too much homework, or that he'd gotten detention. Both had too much lying for his taste. He was desperately hoping to come up with a less lame excuse (which didn't involve lying to his best friend) before dinner ended.

And then there was Gerald, who had tried to start up a conversation, but had only managed to get (at best) three word responses out of Arnold. There was obviously _something _going on between these two, and he was really getting tired of being left out of the loop. In frustration, he turned to Helga. "So Henrik," he began, trying his best to stay calm, "What's new with you this fine evening? I don't think you've said word one since dinner started."

Helga patted her throat and shook her head.

Gerald observed carefully. "You lost your voice?"

She nodded, ignoring the irony in his words.

Gerald let out a large sigh. "Well, that's great… So if you're sick, what's his excuse?" He jerked his thumb toward their football headed friend.

Helga shrugged her shoulders and made a little swirling motion with her fingers. As far as Gerald could see, this translated to _I don't know, maybe he's crazy? _

He let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, it's a strange night when you're less crazy than he is." She cocked an eyebrow. "No offense," he added casually.

After a second she nodded a little, which he assumed meant _None taken _or possibly _I'm not going to hit you for it. _Arnold remained oblivious to their conversation as his internal debate waged.

"Any idea what's gotten into him?" Gerald asked, his eyes drifting to their friend.

Helga shrugged her shoulders and did her best to look innocent. _Beats me, _was Gerald's interpretation. Gerald nodded, letting his gaze drift to Arnold once more before sighing and turning back to Helga.

"He's a bold kid, but when he sets his mind to something he _really _takes it to heart."

Helga let out a dry, voiceless chuckle.

"I take it you've noticed?"

She gave him a blank stare. _Are you kidding? _

Gerald nodded again. "Yeah, I guess it's pretty obvious. It's kind of his thing, and he's _always _been this way. I should know; I've known him since we were kids. And I mean _little _kids. Practically babies."

Helga watched, looking unusually thoughtful. _Go on. _

"I'll bet you'd never guess that Mr. Goody two shoes over here almost robbed an electronics store once."

She gaped at him, shocked that she had never heard about this.

Gerald nodded in response to her disbelief. "It's true. And he wasn't even a teenager yet. We were still in elementary school, and Arnold had managed to get involved with some real jerk of a guy. Everybody thought this guy was the coolest of the cool, except for me. When he started hanging out with Arnold all the time, I _knew _something was up. So I followed them one night and it turned out I was right. They just wanted Arnold to help them steal something because he was the only one around with a head the right shape to fit in this one window."

He shook his head in disgust. "Of course when Arnold found out, well you know how he is. He wasn't going to have anything to do with a robbery, but they tried to shove him in anyway . And then he gets stuck. So there he is, butt sticking up in the air as they try to push him in and he tries to pull himself out when I start playing this fake police siren from where I'm hiding around the corner. Of course the jerks ran away with their tails between their legs, and I ran around the corner and helped pull him out of there." He nodded his head in summary. "So alright, yeah, he didn't actually _want _to rob the place, but he did get pretty close to being forced to do it."

She frowned and squinted her eyes at him, cocked her head to the side as if trying to make up her mind about something. After a moment, she finally gave a small nod. Gerald was silent for a moment, trying to understand what this latest motion meant.

Arnold's internal debate finally finished and he looked up, oblivious as to why there was a pause in the conversation but willing to take advantage of it. "Hey, Gerald…"

The person in question blinked over at him, surprised. "Welcome back, man! Nice of you to join us. So what's the crisis that you've been stressing over all dinner?"

He took a deep breath before beginning. "Actually Gerald, I have something I need to tell you about…"

Helga's palms suddenly got sweaty. Her cover was entirely in Arnold's hands now. _Don't blow it, _she chanted in her head, _PLEASE don't blow it…_

Gerald squinted over at his friend, unsure if he'd heard right. "Me? Your personal crisis is about me?"

Arnold looked down to his food. This shouldn't have been so hard. It wasn't like he was doing anything horrible by missing Gladiators on ice, and he _did _have a good reason, even if he couldn't say it… He hadn't come up with any good excuses, so he was mostly just praying that Gerald didn't ask in detail about it. "Sort of… You see… something's come up this weekend… and I can't make it to Gladiators on Ice."

Gerald had watched silently as he talked, and now took a moment to process this information before he became unable to hide his mounting frustration. "But—Arnold, we've been planning this for _weeks! _If you bail, it'll just be Harold and I!"

"I know, and I'm sorry, but like I said, something really important came up…" That was a feeble excuse even to Arnold's ears. _So _feeble. Why couldn't he have just lied? Why was he so incapable of it? _Helga_ could do it just fine…

"Well—what is it? I mean," he let out a breath, obviously trying to stay calm, "If it's got you missing Gladiators on Ice then it must be pretty serious. So, what's goin' on, man?"

"I… can't tell you. I'm sorry."

Helga cringed. He really had no tact when it came to deceit… Out of the corner of his eye, Gerald caught her sudden change in expression.

"You knew about this, didn't you?" He asked, directing his attention at her now.

She shook her head and put on her innocent face.

He looked back to Arnold. "It's about him, isn't it?"

Arnold bit his tongue and remained silent.

Gerald let out a frustrated groan and frowned at the remains of his food for a minute. Then he stood up and looked in between both of them. "I don't know what this thing is that's been going on between you two, but whatever it is it's getting old. Fast. I'm sick and tired of being left out of the loop." He focused on Arnold now. "If you can't trust me enough to tell me anything, why am I even your best friend?" Grabbing his trey and stepping away from the table, he muttered, "See you later," and left.

Arnold watched him go with a sinking feeling in his gut, before leaning his head against his palm. "That didn't go as well as I'd hoped."

Helga nudged him with her elbow. "Hey, cheer up," she whispered, "He's probably just cranky because there aren't any women around. He'll come around when the withdrawal symptoms stop."

Arnold managed to muster a weak smile. "Thanks for trying to make me feel better, Helga," he said quietly.

"Don't sweat it," she said, keeping her voice low enough to be unheard by their fellow students, "I just couldn't stand living with you if you were going to mope around like that. I don't like whiners."

He sighed and picked at his food. "Of course you don't." She couldn't just be nice and leave it at that, could she? Suddenly he was very tired.

From beside him, he heard Helga very quietly mutter "I could never let you turn into my mother." It'd been so quiet, in fact, that he was pretty sure that she hadn't intended for him to hear it. But he did. He blinked up at her in surprise to find her staring at the doors Gerald had left through, her eyes miles away.

"Why would I turn into your mother?" He asked, curiosity peaking despite his mood.

She shook her head. "Arnold, save the heart to heart for when at least one of us has the energy. We still have to find my retainer tonight so that I don't have to walk around for the next two weeks pretending I'm sick. Plus, I think people are starting to get freaked out by the two of us whispering together in the middle of the cafeteria." Arnold looked up and sure enough, there were several people gawking at them. With a nod to Helga, he stood and grabbed his trey.

Together they headed back to their room to search for Helga's retainer.

After half an hour of searching, they found it under her pillow.

* * *

By mid-morning Saturday, Arnold had finished his homework for the week. With nothing to occupy his mind, he was unable to stop his thoughts from drifting to the problem that was currently weighing heavily on his heart: Gerald was still mad at him. Gladiators on Ice had not been spoken of since the night Arnold had first mentioned that he couldn't go. Actually, very little had been spoken of between them about _anything _for the past couple days. He still joined them at mealtimes, but his normal charisma was replaced with an unsettling quiet. Yeah, he was still mad, there was no question about it. And Arnold couldn't blame him; he knew _he'd _be mad if the situation was reversed. The worst part, though, was that Arnold couldn't do _anything _to actually _fix _the problem, because fixing the problem would require talking about it. And to talk about it, he'd have to reveal (and endanger) Helga.

His leg started to fidget as he sat at his desk. Frustration built up in him as he stifled the immense urge to _do _something about it. He was never the type to just sit there when a problem needed solving. He stood up and began to pace the room, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

"What's wrong with you?" Helga asked, looking up from the book she was reading on her bed.

"Sorry," he apologized, though he wasn't sure what for. "I just… couldn't sit still." He sat on his bed in an effort to stop pacing, but before long his foot was fidgeting again. With a frustrated sigh he stood and started to pace the room again, before stopping and turning to her. "Is this all you do normally on the weekends?"

"Pretty much," she said with a shrug before looking back to her book.

He ran a hand through his hair. "How can you stand being cooped up in here all the time?"

"For starters," she replied as she flipped a page and continued reading, "I don't usually have football headed dweebs running around me like they've got ants in their pants."

"Sorry. Again." he mumbled and took a breath to calm himself before sitting down again. "I really think I need some fresh air though. What would you think about going somewhere?"

She turned her head to give him an incredulous look. "In case you hadn't noticed, this school is in the middle of _nowhere_. Where would we go?"

"There's a town just a couple miles away—We go through it every time Grandpa and I drive up here. We could go to the library and see if we can find any information on Danny."

"And how do you expect us to get there, Arnoldo? Last time I checked, we didn't have a car."

"Well…" he began hesitantly, "We could walk."

She cocked a disbelieving eyebrow before turning back to her book. "Right. Like I'm going to spend the rest of my day walking to nowhere-ville."

"It _could _work," he argued, but she ignored him and kept reading. He frowned at her before his eyes shifted for the first time to the book in her hands. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're reading _Frankenstein_?"

He watched her stiffen and draw up her legs, hiding the title behind her knees. "Yeah, so what? I can read what I want."

"Sure, I just never really thought you were into that sort of thing."

"Stop changing the subject. Walking to the library is still a bad idea."

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I wasn't trying to—"

"Whatever you say football head," she interrupted, "I'm still not walking miles and miles to some stupid library."

He frowned. "It's not _'miles and miles', _it's maybe five, tops. It wouldn't be a big deal, and the fresh air would do us both good for sure."

She closed her book and stashed it somewhere in the messy sheets beside her. "Oh yeah," she sarcastically drawled, "Taking a walk in unfamiliar woods while a psycho killer is after me sounds like a _great_ idea. Just brilliant, football head."

He frowned more but did not give up. "I'll be with you the entire time."

"Right," she said as she sat up, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes, "A lot of help that's going to be. You couldn't hurt a fly!"

"Actually Helga…" he began hesitantly, rubbing his neck as he spoke, "…I _do _sort of know martial arts… and when I was learning it,I _did _hurt a fly…"

A vague look of recognition crossed her face. "Are you talking about that one time in the fourth grade when you came to school in a bathrobe and started kicking everything?"

"When you put it that way it doesn't sound like much, but that's when I first learned it, yeah."

She looked amused. "And have you ever done anything with it other than show off a bunch of fancy kicks?"

He thought for a minute. "Well… I broke a couple of guy's toothpicks in half once…"

She gave him a blank stare. "I'm sure toothpicks everywhere are cowering in fear."

"Alright then, if you don't believe me," he said as he stood up, "I'll show you." She raised her eyebrows at him as he walked over to her. "Stand up," he commanded.

"Wait," she said, suddenly feeling a bit nervous, "What are you going to do?"

"Stand up and you'll see," he replied, and when she did not he gently grabbed her arm and led her to her feet.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Helga stuttered, panic slipping into her features at his touch. He steered her to the center of the room and then deliberately reached up to his head, removed his hat and placed it on her head.

"Hold still," he ordered, stepping back a few paces.

She lifted the hat from her head and looked at it in confusion. "I don't know what you're trying to pull, but if you expect me to—"

"Helga," he interrupted, rolling his eyes and snagging the hat out of her hand. "Just hold still." He again placed the hat on her head and firmly grabbed her shoulders for a moment to still her before stepping back into position. She watched in bewilderment (and suppressed euphoria from his touch a moment ago) as he suddenly bent slightly at the knees and took on an athletic stance. It wasn't until he took a prepatory step backwards that a distant memory involving Harold and a pop can came back to her.

"W-wait—" she cried at the last second but it was too late; he had already begun to move. She scrunched her eyes closed and braced for impact, but all that came was a rush of air past her face. Cautiously she opened her eyes, only to find Arnold standing calmly before her with his hand outstretched out before him. The corners of his mouth quirked upward as his hat gently floated down to land directly on his palm. He then casually placed it back onto his head and raised his eyebrows at her, awaiting a response.

"Did… did you just kick your hat off of my head?"

His small smile turned into a full-fledged smirk. "Yup."

She shook her head and pressed her palm against her forehead. "Please don't tell me that you were going entirely off of memory from your little Jackie Chan stunt in the fourth grade."

"Of course not," He assured and sat back on his bed. "Every few months Grandma wakes me up at five am, starts calling me 'grasshopper' and says the time has come to continue my 'training'. Usually it only lasts a week or two before she moves onto something else." He shook his head and stared off into the corner, appearing to be mildly irritated. "It's nice to keep my skills sharp, but I don't see why she couldn't just wait an hour or two…"

"Fine, ok, whatever," Helga said with a wave of her hand, "Just don't do that again or I'll punch you."

He raised an eyebrow at her and folded his arms. "Why Helga, you almost sound like you were scared."

"Hardley," she lied and stepped back to sit on her own bed, "That's barely more than a parlor trick you've got there."

He smiled, obviously not convinced, "I think it'd be enough to do some damage, if it came to that. But it won't. So what do you say, Helga? Will you walk to the library with me?"

She sighed and looked away from his hopeful, smiling face before her own gave her away. "Ok, we can go, if it means all that much to you," she grudgingly agreed.

He grinned, suddenly energized by promise of fresh air and sunshine. "It'll be better than staying cooped up in here all day, I promise."

She folded her arms and watched him start digging through his bag for his wallet. "We'll see."

* * *

They left shortly after lunch when the sun was still high in the sky. As they left the school behind them, trees sprouted up on either side of the road and grew into a dense forest. While they walked, Helga was reminded (as if she needed it) of just how many layers she was wearing. It must've been around 80 degrees, and she was already feeling warm. She glanced toward the sky. The sun hadn't quite reached its peak yet, and not a cloud was in sight. _Great, _she groaned silently to herself.

"I'm glad you agreed to go," Arnold spoke up suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. "This'll be good, Helga, just wait."

"Yeah, if you say so Football head," Helga mumbled back to him.

Arnold paused for a moment, trying to think of something to talk about. "So what makes you like _Frankenstein_?" he asked casually as they continued walking.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and then back to the road. "Hey, I never said I _liked _it, bucko, I was just reading it."

"Then why _were _you reading it?" he asked, turning his head to look at her.

"Because Volker assigned it to us," she quickly lied, "What's with the twenty questions?"

"I was just making conversation," he defended.

"Well maybe I don't _want _to make conversation, hmmn?" She snapped, the heat making her irritable.

He turned his head back to face the road. "Fine, Helga."

They walked in silence for several minutes before Helga spoke up again.

"Just how long do you expect this to take?"

"Well, it's only a couple miles, so it'll probably be a little under an hour to get there."

"Great…" Helga huffed to herself as an awkward silence descended upon them again. "This better be a quick hour…"

* * *

_**3 hours later… **_

Helga wiped the sweat off her brow and shot a glare at the boy next to her. " '_It's five miles, tops,' " _she mocked in a whiney voice.

"Helga…" he breathed, sounding tired, "I really don't need to hear it again…"

"Oh, but I think you do," she shot back as she pulled on her neckline and failed yet again to cool off. "It was _your _brilliant idea that got us into this mess." She squinted furiously up at the sky and that damn sun that just refused to stop beating down on them even as the temperature skyrocketed into the nineties.

"It might go a little faster if you would stop yelling to yell at me every five minutes," Arnold complained.

"I wouldn't have to yell at you if you weren't so geographically challenged!" She shouted back.

"Alright, yes, I might have misjudged the distance," he admitted, slowing to a stop so that he could face her, "but we're almost there and—" He stopped midsentence, his gaze locked over her shoulder.

"What?" She asked, twisting her head around to see what he was looking at. She caught a brief glimpse of two figures off in the distance before she was suddenly pulled forward and sent stumbling into the cover of trees. In the next second, she found her back pressed to a tree with Arnold's body flush against her own, effectively pinning her in place. His eyes were wide and alert, and trained on the road behind them. Several seconds passed in which she was completely paralyzed. They were so close that she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat next to the thudding in her own chest. She tried to speak out of her suddenly dry throat and instead a small squeaking noise came out. Arnold promptly clasped a hand over her mouth at the sound, all the while not taking his eyes off of the street behind them. Her breath fanned out over his fingers as she gaped at him in complete and utter shock. She'd almost begun to believe that she'd slipped into some strange (but _amazingly wonderful_) dream when she heard the voices.

"…can't believe that I let you come."

It sounded familiar, but it couldn't actually be who she thought it was, could it?

"Rhonda baby, don't lie, you know you love it…"

Yes. Apparently it could be. And it sounded like Curly of all people was with her. What on earth was a pairing like that doing here?

"Ugh, this is the LAST time I let myself be indebted to you."

Arnold ducked his head behind the tree as their voices grew louder.

"You know, if you wanted to spend more time with me you just had to ask."

"I assure you that most definitely is _not _the case."

They heard Curly snicker. "That's not what you said last—"

"_Shut up!" _Rhonda hissed. There was a smacking sound of flesh on flesh, and Helga was pretty sure that Rhonda had either clasped a hand over his mouth, or slapped him. Either way she was pretty disappointed that she couldn't be watching this right now. "If you _ever _speak a word about that to _anyone _then I swear I'll cut off your man parts and feed them to you." Helga snickered against Arnold's hand.

"It's alright, Rhonda. Your secret's safe with me… or should I say _our _secret?"

Rhonda let out a frustrated groan and Helga heard gravel rustle as she started walking again. "Let's just get to the lake."

"Anything for you, my princess…"

Helga's shoulders started to shake, and it was all Arnold could to stop the sound of her muffled giggles from carrying.

They heard a distant groan from farther away, and eventually the sound of their footsteps faded into the distance. When it was silent again Arnold finally stepped away, freeing Helga, who promptly doubled over in raucous laughter. Occasionally a snort was heard from the pile she fell into on the forest floor.

"You should probably quiet down before they hear you," Arnold suggested, trying to fight a smile of his own from her infectious laughter. She ignored him, continuing to laugh so hard that she was gasping for breath and clutching her stomach. He shook his head and looked out toward the empty road. "I wonder what that was about?" He questioned.

"Wasn't it obvious?" Helga asked between laughs, managing to sit up and brace herself against the tree. "It seems that _Princess Rhonda—_" she had to pause to let out a string of giggles, "—has a thing for stalkers. I mean, _everybody _knows that Curly's been obsessed with Rhonda since elementary school, but who ever thought that Rhonda actually _liked _a nut job like him back?" She shook her head and chuckled to herself. "Oh, this is _rich. _Not to mention that it's pretty valuable blackmail information…"

Arnold frowned. "I wouldn't be too harsh on her. Sure, Curly _is _pretty weird, but he also would do just about anything for her. Sure, he stalks and obsesses over her, but that's still attention. It's a little extreme, but with all that doting I can see how he might grow on her."

Helga sobered at his words, her last few chuckles dying away. "Oh? You saying that stalking turns you on, Football head?" She turned her face up to see him, a lingering smile still in place even though her palms had just gotten sweaty and her heart rate doubled.

"Of course not," he said, flushing a little. "Stalking someone is pretty intense, especially for how long Curly's been doing it. But at the same time, it means they care for you at a depth that most people aren't even capable of… so I guess in a way, it's also a little flattering, I guess." He shrugged before walking over to her and sticking his hand out to help her up.

She took it, eyeing him warily as she rose. "Sounds like you've put some thought into—_OW!" _In seconds she'd shot to her feet and started digging at her side. "_Shit _that _hurt!_"

Arnold snapped to attention and frantically looked her over. "What?!" he asked in a panic, "What is it?"

Helga shook her head, trying in vain to find skin under her many layers of clothing. "I don't know; something bit me or… _something…_" When she finally reached the last layer, the twitching remains of a bee fell out of the folds. "_Great,_" Helga grumbled as she craned her neck around to get a good view of the sore spot on the back of her hip, "I _hate _bees."

"Here," Arnold said suddenly, stepping behind her and going to his knees, "Let me help." Helga froze as she felt his hands go to her waist, gently pushing the fabric out of the way. She couldn't _see _what he was doing, but she felt his fingertips brush her skin, the gentle flow of air from his even breathing. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, but if Arnold noticed he didn't say anything. "Just hold on," he murmured, "The stinger's still in there…"

"Sure," she responded dazedly. Her face flushed from more than the heat and she blinked quickly, trying to stop from giving herself away.

"Got it!" Arnold finally announced and let go of her. She turned around and dazedly adjusted her shirt. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, still on one knee and smiling up at her.

Helga fumbled through her fuzzy mind for a response, but was interrupted.

"Arnold?"

They both jumped and turned to look at the source of the familiar female voice. Arnold leaned to the side to get a better look at the woman standing just past the side of the road. "Nadine?" He called out in confusion, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here with Rhonda; her family went on vacation and she asked me to come along, but… if you don't mind me asking, what are _you _doing?" Her eyes ran over the two of them: Arnold down on one knee in front of a strangely familiar looking boy, both slightly flushed and far away from anyone they knew…

Arnold quickly stood up and dusted himself off. "I'm, uh, taking classes at the school down the road…" He replied feebly and cleared his throat. "But you said Rhonda's vacationing around here?"

"Yeah," Nadine said slowly, glancing at Helga and obviously still a little confused but not pressing the issue, "Their vacation home is just down the road. She called it their 'mountain getaway' and said they come here when they want to get away from it all. It's surrounded by trees and pretty much the only house around for a few miles, so I guess that's _sort of _true, but really town's just a five minute drive down that way." She pointed in the direction that Arnold and Helga had been walking. "I've never seen Rhonda stay anywhere that doesn't have cell coverage. You haven't seen her anywhere, have you?"

"Actually, I think she and Curly just walked by a couple minutes ago," Arnold offered kindly.

"Thanks," she said politely and shuffled from foot to foot in the awkward silence that followed. "Well," Nadine said as it became obvious that there would be no further explanation, "I'll see you later Arnold." With that she turned to walk away, but Arnold called out to her.

"Hey, Nadine?"

She turned to look back at him with a questioning glance.

He rubbed his neck awkwardly before speaking. "Could you maybe not mention seeing us here to anyone?"

Understanding dawned on their classmate's face and she smiled warmly at them. "Sure thing. I actually did the same thing for my cousin once before he came out."

Arnold was confused for a moment, but he was getting a little quicker on the uptake with all of Gerald's teasing recently. Mild horror flashed across his face as he finally understood. "Wait, Nadine, I'm not—"

"It's alright Arnold, I won't tell a soul." Nadine winked at them as she turned to go. "You take as long as you need. I'll see you later!" And with that she was gone, leaving Arnold to stare helplessly at her retreating figure.

Behind him, Helga snickered. He shot her a small glare as they stepped back out to the road and started walking again. "What?"

"You seem to be getting quite the reputation there, football head." He rolled his eyes at her highly amused smirk.

"It's not funny," he said irritably.

She raised her eyebrows, trying to look innocent, but the amused smirk refused to fade. "Am I laughing?"

"You were…" he mumbled before letting out a frustrated sigh and continuing on. "I don't understand why people keep saying that."

"You can't exactly blame them," she pointed out.

He frowned at her. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Well, what are they supposed to think? You're about as romantically active as a rock."

"Hey!" He shouted and glared at her again.

"Well it's true," she bluntly said with a shrug, "Who was the last girl you dated? Can you even remember?"

He shot her an irritated look, but considered the question seriously for a moment. "I think…" he began hesitantly, "I think I technically dated Sheena for two days in eighth grade."

She'd known the answer before she'd even asked the question. Arnold's romantic life was something she knew by the back of her hand; she'd written the _book _on it. Literally. It was tucked in the back of her closet at home right now, assuming Danny hadn't decided to take that too. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. God, she hoped he hadn't. Whatever the case, Arnold didn't need to know about how extensive her knowledge was on the subject. "So you're always playing Mr. Sensitive, and you've had virtually no interest in women since middle school," she summarized after thinking a moment, "_Interesting. _Now why were you confused about everyone thinking you're gay again?"

Arnold shook his head. "But that's not true," he argued.

"Well _I _believe you, football head. You've always seemed like the asexual type to me. But as for everyone else—"

"That's not what I was talking about," he interrupted, "I _have _been interested in women, I just haven't _dated _any."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Then why is it that no one has actually _seen _this fabled interest? You've even got a prime example in that best friend of yours."

He looked repulsed. "Being interested in women doesn't mean that I have to make out with anything that moves."

"I'm pretty sure tall hair boy only makes out with women," Helga corrected with a smirk. "_You_ on the other hand…"

He rolled his eyes and continued. "For the past couple years I've been trying to focus on school, so I haven't really tried to date that much… but I've been asked out a number of times, and every time whether I'm interested or not, something goes wrong. I'm actually starting to feel like I'm cursed. Anytime I've tried to go on a date with someone, it's like a black cloud follows me around." _Oh, _something _is definitely following you around, _Helga thought, _but it's not a black cloud…_

"Really?" she asked, feigning innocence, "I wonder why what could be…"

He eyed her suspiciously as they kept walking. "What about you?" he asked finally, "You haven't exactly been the most active on the dating scene. I don't think I've ever seen you go out with anyone… except for Stinky that one time in the fourth grade, of course."

Her face flushed a bright pink. He actually _remembered _that?! "I-I just have high standards, that's all."

He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at her. "High standards that _Stinky _falls into?"

She feebly fumbled for an excuse. "They're very, um, specific standards, and, um…"

"Sounds like you don't have much better luck than I do," he said triumphantly as she fumbled for a response.

She shot him a glare and out an irritated huff. "Just shut up and walk. I want to get there before the rest of our high school decides to show up."

Arnold turned his now smirking face to the road ahead of them. "Whatever you say, Helga."

* * *

They reached the small town shortly after they stopped talking and headed straight toward the library. However, their trip there turned out to be fruitless. The walked out an hour after entering with no more information than they'd had when they came in.

"_That _was your master plan?" Helga asked as they pushed open the library doors and walked toward the street, "Walk three hours to the library and _Google _him?"

"It's not like you were able to come up with anything better," he defended as they reached the sidewalk. "So what now?"

Helga's stomach grumbled.

Arnold let out a low chuckle and checked his watch. "I guess it is getting pretty late. We should probably eat something. I think the cafeteria will be closed by the time we get back."

Helga's eyes skimmed their surroundings. "There's a burger joint across the street," she suggested casually, though the thought of eating with him had her heart thrumming in her ears. Sure, she'd eaten with him numerous times before, but they'd never really been _alone _like they were now. _Oh yeah, _she chastised herself, _like a 'burger joint' is a romantic place to have dinner… _

"Sounds great," Arnold said and led the way towards the restaurant.

Upon closer investigation, they discovered that _Barney's Burgers _(as was the name of the place) had indoor as well as outdoor seating. This turned out to be a very good thing, as the inside of the restaurant was packed with people, while the outside was almost deserted. They both decided that it would be safest to order inside and then take their food out where there were fewer people to remember their faces.

Their server was a greasy faced teenager whose voice broke with every three words he spoke. The poor guy might've been a cute kid once, but puberty had been hard on him. Arnold ordered first, getting his food and waiting patiently while Helga bought her own dinner. The server slipped as he handed her the Yahoo soda she'd ordered, dropping it once before finally managing to give it to her. "You might want to wait a while before you open that," he cautioned, his voice cracking yet again.

"Sure thing Bub," she dismissed with a shrug before heading off to join Arnold outside.

He smiled at her when she sat down and a pleasant silence settled over them as they ate.

Just then Arnold dropped a French fry and bent over to pick it up, bringing his head to waist level. Helga remembered the attendant's warning and suddenly her fingers itched on the cap, the pressurized contents of the bottle bubbling just beneath the glass. It was a bad idea. It was mean and stupid and he'd been so nice and patient with her recently. She wouldn't do it. But even as she told herself this her fingers were twisting…

…and then the cap shot off and an explosion of soda shot out, spraying Arnold directly on the side of his football shaped head. He froze there, dripping and still holding the fry he'd dropped. Slowly he opened the eyes he'd squinted closed at the impact to stare at her.

"Whoops," she said sarcastically, her face a mask of cockiness behind which she was really panicking. _What the hell is wrong with me?! _She cursed herself. _Just when things are going good, I have to go and screw it all up. I just have to make him hate me, don't I?_

"Really, Helga?" He asked in a low voice, his unblinking eyes still focused on her.

She felt her mask slipping and turned away with a nonchalant shrug. "What can I say, football head, you must just be accident pro—"

_Pffffft! _

Helga's hands instinctively went to her face as cold carbonated beverage sprayed her shoulder. Now it was her turn to stare wide eyed at where Arnold sat, smirking slightly at her with that half lidded gaze of his. When she continued to stare at him in shock, he cocked an eyebrow.

"What was it you were saying just now about me being accident prone?" He teased.

She couldn't stop gaping at him. "D-did you just spray me with your soda?"

"I might've," he replied with a coy smile.

Her mouth gaped open in disbelief. "_You, _the king of virtue and all things righteous, actually went through with an act of mischief?"

"Why not?" he asked with a shrug, "You do it all the time. Plus, there's a small chance that I _might _not have started it." He pointed to his wet hair and gave her a meaningful look.

She shook her head, speechless for at least the third time today, before her face cracked and she burst into a fit of giggled. "_Geez _Arnold," she exclaimed through her laughter, "I thought you were going to _hate _me when I did that!"

Arnold started chuckling a little himself, a grin spreading out on his lips. "Well, I figured that I could either get mad at you, or take the chance to give you a taste of your own medicine and make the best of it."

"A taste of my own medicine, huh? Sounds a little aggressive for you, Arnoldo."

"You've got to admit that you had it coming." She opened her mouth to argue as she usually would have but bit it back, not wanting to push her luck with how well he'd taken her most recent antics. He looked at his watch as they finished eating. His face grew a little strained. "I didn't realize it had gotten so late," he said, glancing up to the distant setting sun with a worried look. "We should start heading back. If we start walking now, we might be able to make it there before ten."

Helga sent him a nervous glance as she tossed the remains of her food in a nearby garbage can. "Doesn't the school lock up at some point?"

Arnold nodded, almost grimacing. "Yeah… I think at ten."

Helga gawked at him. "Ten?"

He nodded again.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the road. "Let's get moving. Now."

* * *

At first they walked at a very brisk pace, both marching forward with determined steps. When they came upon the long narrow driveway which (assumedly) led to Rhonda's family vacation home, they quickly tiptoed past. After about an hour, their panting breaths led them to the realization that this was not a sustainable speed and they slowed down to a manageable pace. Every now and then Arnold would glance at his watch and confirm that they were indeed making good time.

A silence settled upon them as they walked. Darkness had crept up around them, but just as it seemed darkest, they stepped into a pool of grey light. He looked skyward and found the moon, nearly full, ascending past the treetops. "Hey, the moon's out," he commented simply, not sure why he'd had to verbalize this fact.

"Nice one, Captain Obvious," he heard Helga say from next to him, "I'll be sure to alert the media about _that _miraculous discovery."

He couldn't help rolling his eyes and smiling a little before muttering, "Sure you will, Helga." At her lack of response he glanced over towards her, only to realize in horror that she was not by his anymore. For a split second he panicked and looked around frantically, only to discover her stopped several paces behind him, face tilted up towards the sky. "Helga?" He called out, a little unsure. "What are you doing?"

She glanced at him nervously before speaking. "Don't think I'm a sap or anything," she began defensively and looked toward the ground, "But when it's all bright and full like that, I just have to take a second to look. It's kind of… well, inspiring, you know?" Her gaze returned to the sky as she finished. _She's talking about the moon, _he realized and looked up in wonder. He knew she wrote poetry, but what strange universe had he walked into where _Helga _liked to stare up at the moon?

Words came back to him from a strange, long forgotten dream: '_Oh all-knowing lunar sphere taunting from above, Whilst thou never guide me to my one true love?'_

His gaze fell downward, landing on Helga as she gazed up at the stars. The moonlight bathed her features in a pale blue hue and reflected in her eyes, making them fluoresce. He'd never seen her like this, her face so calm and at peace. Upon his continued stare her eyes fell to meet his, and in them there was something else that he'd never seen before…

The atmosphere around them seemed to change; the air sparked with an invisible electricity. Deep within him something stirred, long hidden beneath layers of his subconscious. It held his eyes in place for a long moment until finally he tore his gaze away, confused and suddenly restless.

"We should probably get back," he said, not meeting her eyes.

She nodded and started walking again, staring at him curiously as he continued to avoid looking at her. Finally she turned her face forward and they walked forward in silence, a strange tension following them.

They reached the school at 9:50, just in time to sneak past the security guard as he was locking up for the night.


	18. Ways to make Helga Uncomfortable

A/N: I'm so sorry to keep all of you waiting for so long, but it's here at last! All of your reviews have been so lovely, and I felt so bad for making you wait but it just wasn't done! Hopefully the length of this chapter can make up for that some. Originally I considered breaking this up into two chapters, but there just really wasn't a good spot to do it. It's all in a connected segment in my head for a reason. Oh, and just fyi, by the end of this chapter we should be picking up pace plot wise until the end-ish. Without further delay, here is chapter 18….

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold

**Chapter 18: A Million Ways to make Helga Uncomfortable**

Helga stared out at the surprisingly full auditorium, searching for the football headed face she knew so well. She spotted him sitting towards the back, his nose in a book. She frowned. It was the Thursday before finals week, so it wasn't unexpected that he would already be studying. But there was more to it than that.

Ever since last Saturday night, he'd been slightly distant with her. It'd been tiny things, things so small she was almost convinced she'd imagined it: how his eyes avoided meeting hers, or how his normal friendly smile came just a second too late, or the frustratingly polite tone that had crept into his voice every time he spoke to her... At first she'd thought she must've done something to make him mad; her big mouth had a tendency of offending people. But that didn't make any sense—she couldn't remember having said anything, and Arnold had the patience of a saint anyway. The last time he'd acted this strange she'd known _very _well what she'd done to piss him off. This was different. First of all, he didn't seem pissed off or passive aggressive or anything. He was just so damn… _polite. _It was almost like he was _avoiding _her (_politely)_, or at least avoiding talking to her, and she was pretty sure that this early spree of studying was an excuse to do just that.

Gerald (who was currently lining up on the stage next to her) wasn't helping, either. He had warmed up _a little _over the past week, but the relationship between the two best friends was still extremely stressed. It was easy to see that Gerald was not happy with the situation, but it wasn't changing anytime soon. Arnold stayed true to his word and kept quiet (much to her relief) while Gerald stood by in quiet discontent. All of this drama was driving her _crazy. _It was so distracting that by the time Thursday rolled around, she'd completely forgotten about the fact that it was the final poetry reading for the tournament.

So it came as a surprise to her when she walked into the auditorium and Volker had asked all of the remaining contestants to line up onstage. There were only four of them in total: Herself, Gerald, a short, nerdy looking kid with glasses, and an extremely tall, pale guy who twitched every few seconds. She almost laughed as she realized how ridiculous this grouping must have looked. Maybe they all looked like weirdos (with the possible exception of Gerald) but they were supposedly the best poets in the school.

Volker stood up at the Judge's table. "Welcome, students, to the final reading of our poetry tournament. You may be wondering why I have asked you to line up like this rather than just begin reading. As the final round in the competition, this meeting is going to go very differently than previous ones. If you have prepared a poem for today, I am sorry, but you will not be reading it." The contestants looked at each other in confusion, some looking upset. Helga pretended to be disappointed. "Instead, this final round will test another important pillar of poetry performance: _Improvisation._ Helga's stomach twisted ominously, the tale pale guy twitched, and the nerdy kid sucked in a wheezing breath. _And I thought I'd ditched Brainy back in Hillwood…_ "Contestants will each be given five minutes to come up with a free form poem on a topic of their own choosing _on the spot, _and without help from outside sources_._ Are there any questions?" They all stared in horrified silence. Mr. Volker grinned wickedly. "In that case," he clicked a small stopwatch with his thumb, "Time starts now."

No one moved. Helga's mind was a chaotic mess, a million and one ideas popping into her head and all of them seeming terrible. She shot a glare towards the audience. So, what now? Were they just supposed to stand here awkwardly while a bunch of people watched them think? She shook her head and focused on the corner of the stage, trying to organize her thoughts and ignore the many eyes that were gawking at them. _Talk about hindering the creative process, _Helga thought in frustration. She managed to piece together a series of phrases that sounded somewhat poetic just as Volker called time. As fate would have it, he also called her to go first.

It was far from her best work, but her voice was steady as she spoke into the mic and she saw a small nod of approval from Volker.

"Mr. Higgs," Volker called out as she stepped back in line, "If you would please go next." The pale twitchy boy snapped to attention at the sound of his name. The lanky teenager stepped forward, twitching several times and shivering slightly. After a second he opened his mouth to speak.

"The—" he chocked, twitched again, and then promptly fainted.

Mr. Volker sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Will someone please escort Mr. Higgs to the nurse's office so that we may continue?" After several students volunteered from the audience and dragged Higgs off Mr. Volker spoke again, announcing that Mr. Higgs would sadly not be eligible to compete but the competition would continue as scheduled with the rest of them. Helga and Gerald shared a quick glance. _Three left, and only two winners. _That meant that at least one of them would win this.

The short, nerdy kid went next, producing a jumble of lines that Helga judged to be about on par for quality with what she'd come up with. Helga was expecting something similar out of Gerald (how were they expected to come up with anything _better _than that on the spot like this?) but to her surprise, something entirely different came out as the final contender stepped forward.

Beautiful. Rhythmic. Enchanting. Honestly she didn't know how to describe it, but what surprised her most was that it came out of Gerald's mouth. Somehow he'd managed to paint a verbal picture of conflicted emotions; an oral tapestry that perfectly mixed an intense longing and regret. _What on earth was he thinking about when he came up with that?_

After several seconds of stunned silence, Mr. Volker leaned forward and spoke. "Would the contestants please turn out their pockets?" This was obviously aimed at Gerald, but all three of them did so and came back empty. The small group of judges nodded and began to speak quietly amongst themselves about the decision before them. Apparently they would be making the final decision right now.

Helga shifted her weight from foot to foot in the silence that followed. She was really getting tired of standing up here like this. Out of the corner of her eye, she peaked at Gerald. He looked about the same as normal, his "Mr. Cool" face in place. After a second he noticed her gaze and cocked an eyebrow. "What?" he whispered, sounding mildly irritated.

She quickly angled her face forward again. "Didn't know you had it in you, Johanssen," she quietly teased.

He cocked an eyebrow before turning his head to the center as well. "Don't read too much into it. My dad promised me to let me drive the new car next week if I won this thing."

"If I may have you attention please," Mr. Volker bellowed and stood up, "Gentlemen, the Judges and I have come to a decision. In second place, we have Mr. Donald Redwood!"

The nerdy kid jumped and looked around, surprised. Helga and Gerald watched as, after a moment of confusion, he walked forward and down the stage to shake hands with Volker.

"And finally," Volker spoke once Donald was in his proper place, "Coming in first place as the winner of this tournament…." He paused dramatically and took a long look around the room….

"Mr. Gerald Johanssen!"

Gerald threw his fist in the air excitedly and then cleared his throat, trying to regain some composure. Helga's stomach twisted slightly. She hadn't wanted to participate with the thing in the first place. What did it matter if she didn't win? But her eyes followed as Gerald shook Volker's hand, and she gritted her teeth. _It still sucks to be beaten by tall hair boy… _

"Congratulations, my boy. You and Mr. Redwood are asked to read one of your poems at the Annual Wilson Hill Arts Festival next Wednesday, and will be exempt from my final exam."

Gerald smiled and pretended to look interested before heading off the stage and straight toward Arnold. Helga followed close behind.

"Do you know what this means?" Gerald asked before Arnold could even congratulate him. He was nearly bouncing with excitement. Helga had never seen him so wired.

Arnold just looked happy that Gerald was talking to him again. "…that you get to read in the festival?"

He scoffed and shook his head. "Who cares about the festival? No, this means I get the _car, _man! The NEW car!"

Understanding dawned on Arnold's face. "Wait, you mean—"

Gerald nodded, a huge grin plastered on his face. "_Yeeaah_ baby, leather seats and drop down tops here I come!" He raised his hand, and they high fived.

Helga rolled her eyes. It was just a car, and he'd be in class for most of next week anyway. What was the big deal?

"Let's go call my dad and let him know," Gerald announced and bounced toward the door.

Arnold started to follow but caught sight of Helga and stopped. He looked at her, slightly guilty. "I'm sorry you didn't win, Hel—Henrik."

She folded her arms and shrugged, not bothering to look at him. "Don't worry about it."

Arnold frowned, still turned halfway toward the door. "I liked your poem, you know. I'm sure if you had more time—"

"Arnold!" Gerald called out from the doorway, "You comin'?"

Arnold looked to the door and took a step toward it before turning back to Helga. "We're going to go call Gerald's parents if you want to—"

"You two go," Helga interrupted, waving him off. "I'll see you back at the room."

He gave an apologetic smile and turned back towards the door. "See you later, Henrik," he called as he left.

She watched as they disappeared through the doors, and shook her head once they were gone. Hadn't they been angry with each other before this?

She snorted and started walking back to the room.

_Men._

* * *

Arnold's distant streak ended Saturday afternoon when Helga got another call from Sergeant Fitz. It was shortly after lunch when she'd been called down, sharing a meaningful look with Arnold as she left. Who _else _would be calling?

The conversation was short, but she bit back panic as she hung up the phone. They'd been trying to track Danny, and they thought they were getting close. He slipped on and off of their radar frequently, but a clear trend was developing: Every time he popped up somewhere, it was always closer to where they were. The last sighting had been just outside of town. _This _town.

"Danny's in the area," she announced to Arnold as she arrived back at their room.

Arnold nodded and studied her with alert eyes. He'd been expecting something like this. "Alright. We'll just have to be careful. Do we know anything else?"

She let out a frustrated sigh and sat on her bed, tugging at the wig a little. "They've alerted the police department here, but other than that, no. Or at least he didn't tell me anything else."

Her foot twitched as she let out a breath and closed her eyes, trying to remain calm. Arnold watched cautiously. It was maybe thirty seconds before she broke down with a groan and swore. "_Shit_, I'm _screwed, _Arnold! He _knows_! He _knows _where I am, and I just have to _sit here _while he hunts me down?!"

He tried to reassure her. "We don't know that for sure—"

"Why _else_ would he be coming this way?" she asked, cutting him off.

"Maybe he—"

"Do you think he saw the newspaper back in Hillwood and recognized me?"

"I don't know, but—"

"How much do you think he knows?"

"Helga, I think—"

"Do you think he knows I'm in the school? Or where it is? What if he—"

"_HELGA," _Arnold shouted at last, snapping her out of her hysteria. "This isn't going to work," he announced in a clear, firm voice, "You can't just sit here and worry the entire time. Sure, we'll be careful, but that doesn't mean we have to be miserable. You're going to drive yourself crazy thinking about it. Let's talk about something else."

She huffed and gave him a wary look that said, 'I know you're trying to distract me and it's not going to work', but what she actually said out loud was, "Like what?"

He thought for a moment, and then spoke suddenly. "So why would I turn into your mother?"

She sat up straight and looked at him carefully, hoping she hadn't heard that right. "What?"

"You said the other day that you could never let me turn into your mother."

Nope, she'd definitely heard correctly. "Oh," she grumbled, "_That."_

"Well," he began when she didn't continue, shifting in his chair, "You _did_ say that we could have that heart to heart later, and it's later now."

She frowned and looked away. He knew her mother was a drunk. _Everybody _knew. So why would he ask? He was getting at something else, something that she didn't really feel like talking about now. "I was kind of hoping that you'd forget about that," she eventually mumbled.

"Why?" He pressed.

She sighed, letting herself flop back against her bed. "Arnold, do you feel comfortable enough with me to talk about _your _parents? You didn't seem like it a couple weeks ago."

He hesitated. "Well… no… not _completely… _but it's a sensitive topic."

She nodded. "That's what I thought. When you're willing to talk with me about your parents, then I'll talk with you about mine."

"Fair enough." A mildly awkward silence passed in which Helga tugged at the wig again. A curious thought popped into Arnold's head. "Do you ever get tired of dressing up like that all the time?"

She sat up and gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me?" At his innocent expression she exclaimed, "Of course I do! This freaking wig itches _constantly_, and you wouldn't believe how hot it gets under all of this crap I have to wear." She tugged at her collar to emphasize the point. "What I wouldn't give to just wear something normal for a day..." she trailed off, staring longingly into space.

He watched her, and after a moment a thought struck him. "Well..." he hesitantly began, "You probably could for a little while..."

"Don't tempt me," she said, only partially sarcastic.

"I'm serious." He leaned towards her from his chair. "You could do it. It's the weekend, and Gerald is gone, so no one is likely to stop by. And if they do, you can just hide in the bathroom and change back while I answer the door. If we're going to be locked up in here all day, you might as well be comfortable."

She cocked her head and put a hand to her chin, mulling it over. "I _guess _it couldn't hurt, if it was just for a little while…" Decision made, she stood up, walked to the closet and began to dig through her bag. Stashed at the very, very bottom were the clothes she'd worn the day before her Henrik disguise had been made. It was just a small bundle, mostly made up of a pink t-shirt and jeans, but it contained something she'd been longing for this entire time and that was in very short supply here: _a bra. _A real one, not an unholy strip of fabric made to squish and smash her breasts for weeks on end.

"What are you looking for?" Arnold asked from across the room, a curious expression on his face.

She kept her face turned away as she removed the bundle and a blush spread over her cheeks. "If I'm changing _out _of something, I have to change _into _something, don't I? Were you _really _expecting me to walk out naked?" It was Arnold's turn to blush now. He hadn't really thought that far into it. Before he could come up with a response, though, she turned and stepped into the bathroom. "Hold on a minute," she called out before shutting the door.

Several minutes later Helga emerged, T-shirt and jeans in place and her face a wash of relief. "Oh, that's _so _much better," she sighed out as she stretched and plopped down onto her bed. The wig hadn't come off when she'd changed, so she ripped it off now and tossed it onto her pillow, running her fingers through her hair.

The back of her neck tingled; someone was watching her. Her eyes blinked open and she looked to Arnold, who was, sure enough, staring at her somewhat intently. She fingered a strand of pale hair, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "What?" she asked, defensive.

"You know, Helga," he began, a small smile creeping on his face, "Brunette is okay, but Blonde hair suits you. I like it."

Her face instantly heated up and she tried to look at anything but him as she replied. "Sheesh Arnold, I knew Gerald was starting to get loony being cooped up with men all of the time, but I didn't think _you _were."

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "I'm not getting 'loony'. You're pretty, Helga. It's just more obvious when you've been dressing like a guy for weeks on end."

Her cheeks must have been glowing by now. _Alright Arnold, I'm officially distracted from this whole Danny thing, you can stop now before I melt... _She glanced at his face for just long enough to see that he was grinning now. _He can see that this is getting to me… and he's enjoying it! _A small spark of irritation flared within her. She cleared her throat and spoke with her eyes closed, praying that Arnold would stop flirting with her before she either kissed him or punched him. "Ahem, so, um, what were we talking about before this?"

Arnold leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, smirking at her a little. "Since you changed, I don't think we settled on a topic."

"Then let's pick one," she said a little too quickly.

"Okay…" Arnold said, tapping his chin in thought. His eyes ran across a book lying on the floor and he tilted his head to the side. "You still reading _Frankenstein_?"

Helga glanced at the book on the floor, and then immediately averted her eyes. "Uh, yeah, Volker's still got us reading that one…"

He squinted at her and folded his arms, head still tilted to the side. "You know, that's funny, because Gerald hasn't mentioned anything about having to read it."

_Why is he still suspicious? _She wondered, eyeing him warily. _He knows something… But how? _"Does Gerald _usually _tell you everything he does in all of his classes?"

"No," Arnold admitted, "But given how much he complained the _last _time he had to read _Frankenstein_, I think I would've heard about it by now."

She glared at him for a long moment before letting out a large sigh. With defeated posture she slid off her bed and onto the ground, where she absently began folding a piece of loose paper. "Alight, hair boy. We both know you're getting at something. Spit it out." The paper turned into a football, which she promptly flicked at a dark spot on her dresser.

"I think you're hiding the fact that you like _Frankenstein._" He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

She folded another paper football and flicked it at the same dark spot. Arnold noticed, with growing interest, that she had yet to miss. "Even if I did like the thing, why would that matter? It's just a book."

Arnold's eyes followed as another bit of paper hit the exact same spot. "Well, that's sort of what I was getting at," he said, mildly distracted, "You _hid _it, so there must be something else going on."

"Well," she declared in a 'there will be no arguing' kind of voice, "That topic's not on the table, so you better pick a new one."

"Come on Helga, it can't be _that _bad. It's just a—"

"Nope," she interrupted, folding another ball, "New topic."

He frowned, but found himself unable to help being slightly fascinated as she prepared to flick yet another piece of paper at the same spot. "How did you get so good at that?"

She paused in mid flick to look up at him with eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Do you seriously want me to answer that?"

It took a second before it dawned on him, but when it did he smacked a palm against his forehead. She must've flicked _thousands _of those things at him in middle school alone. Of _course _Helga would be good at it.

"Nevermind," he said, shaking his head, "Don't answer that. Just… try aiming at something else for a second."

"Okay," She agreed with a shrug. "Like what?"

Arnold's eyes skimmed around the room. "Try my alarm clock."

She nodded, took aim, and a second later the paper projectile was flying through the air. It hit with a soft click, and a second later the local radio station started to blare through the tiny thing's speakers. Arnold's eyebrows shot up. _No way…_ Had she been _trying _to do that? Maybe it was a fluke. He'd have to suggest something harder. "Alright... how about the light switch?"

Helga shrugged and started folding another. "Whatever floats your boat, Football Head." After a second she finished and took aim again. With a flick of her finger the ball flew through the air, bounced against the switch, and then the lights turned on. It hadn't just _hit _the switch, it'd actually hit at the right angle and with enough force to _flip the switch_.

He blinked a couple times to collect himself. "Helga… you have _really _good aim."

Her lips quirked up into a cynical smirk. "Everyone knows that practice makes perfect, hair boy."

He ignored the underlying meaning in her reply and sank down to the floor next to her. "Could you teach me?"

She seemed genuinely confused. "You want me to teach you how to flick paper at people? It's really not that hard. I've been doing it since we were kids. You should know."

"Well, not _people_ necessarily, but having better aim couldn't hurt." He grabbed a piece of paper and started making a ball of his own, copying the folds he'd seen her do earlier. "And you do it so consistently that you must have _some _sort of system to it."

She frowned and took the paper from him. "For starters, you're not folding it right. You've got to have sharper creases, like this, see?" She demonstrated by running her fingers along the crease of his fold before giving it back to him. "Otherwise it'll end up too fat and it won't fly well." When he finished folding it, she told him to hit the same spot on the dresser she'd been aiming at earlier. He got into careful position, focused on his target, and flicked away.

It hit the lamp two feet above and bounced off, nearly hitting Helga in the eye.

"Sorry," Arnold mumbled, mildly ashamed.

"Ah, I don't know if you didn't hear me Arnold," she said after a moment, "But I said the dark spot on the dresser, not the lampshade."

He blushed slightly. "….I know. I'm not very good at this."

She snickered softly. "Remember the time we were all trying to save Mighty Pete, and the only thing we had left to throw was that stupid coffee cup, and you tried to hit the bulldozer lever to stop it? And you missed and only made it go faster?" She laughed a little harder. "Or the time you accidentally knocked out the whole baseball team because—"

"Can we focus, please?" He asked politely with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Sure, whatever you want Arnoldo," she mused, her laughter dying down a little, "But remember that you _did _ask for this." He folded another, and she told him to aim at the same spot.

The paper ball veered off to the side and Helga had to duck out of the way.

She took a deep breath. "This could take a while…"

An hour later and Arnold was finally managing to hit the spot fairly consistently. It wasn't exact, but it was a significant improvement. They'd been just about to move on to a different target when the growling of Helga's stomach interrupted them. She sighed, and reached for the abandoned wig on her pillow. "I guess I'll go put this thing back on so we can eat."

He saw the gleam of disappointment in her eye, and his hand shot out to stop her before he really knew what he was doing, "Wait."

She stared at him questioningly, a nervousness behind her eyes that she was obviously attempting to hide. "What?"

"Don't put it back on. I'll… I'll get us food and bring it back."

"You mean _steal?_"

"You never get to take that stuff off," he found himself saying even as he stood up, "The least I can do is let you be comfortable for a few more hours."

She was speechless. He waited at the door for her to approve or comment or _something, _feeling incredibly stupid for even thinking of doing this. Rule breaking wasn't really his thing, even if this would involve just eating the same food in a different place.

After a moment, Helga managed to speak. "T-thank you," she stammered out, to which he nodded and left before he could change his mind.

* * *

Arnold returned about ten minutes later balancing two treys of food and still somehow managing to get the door open. "I told the cafeteria lady that my roommate was too sick to leave the room, so they let me take this back with me," he explained. "I feel kind of bad for lying about this…" he admitted as placed his bounty in the center of the room.

Helga rolled her eyes and reached for a cheeseburger. "Oh, relax Football head. It's not like you're stealing from the mouths of starving orphans. And hey," she added, eagerly taking a bite, "It's for a good cause, right?"

"I can't argue with that," he reluctantly agreed, obviously still slightly conflicted but sitting down and grabbing something from the pile anyway.

Helga relaxed back against her bed, glad to have the ache in her stomach subside. She'd been hungrier than she'd realized. "So, what now?" She asked after swallowing another mouthful.

"Well," he said after a moment, "You still haven't told me why you like _Frankenstein _so much. Or why you felt the need to hide it."

She pretended not to hear him. "Do we have anything to drink out of?"

"I think we've got a couple cups in the bathroom…" He replied, watching as she got up and darted off to find them. When she returned she was carrying two coffee mugs, one with the _Yahoo _logo on it, and another labeled in big proud letters _World's Greatest Grandson_. Arnold had brought them both from the boarding house.

"Can't say it's the classiest meal I've ever eaten," she announced as she handed him the _World's Greatest Grandson_ cup and sat down again, "But it's better than putting that wig back on…"

Arnold patiently waited for her to finish taking a drink before speaking again. "So, why are you afraid to admit you like it?"

Helga sighed, defeated. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" He merely smiled. "Alright, fine. I like the book. It's a brilliant piece of literature. And I…. sort of can sympathize with some of the characters. Happy?"

"You sympathize with some of the characters?" he asked, suddenly very curious as he absentmindedly reached for a couple of French fries, "You mean doctor Frankenstein? Have you created something you regret?"

"No, I haven't."

"Then… do you expect to or something?"

"No, I don't. Frankenstein is an irresponsible idiot."

"How so?"

"Think about it. He puts all of this effort into creating this new being, and when it wakes up he just _abandons _the thing. He just can't take the fact that it's not pretty and perfect and beautiful like he wanted. The coward runs away and leaves it to fend entirely for itself in a world where everyone hates it. The monster gets stuck raising himself, teaching himself _everything_ and eventually becomes a murderous fiend that destroys everything he touches. All because his father was a blowhard moron too obsessed with what he wanted and didn't get…"

There was a silence as he studied her. "…it's not Frankenstein who you sympathize with, is it?"

She looked down at her mug. "No, it's not."

There was another pause. "Helga, you're not a bad person. You might be mean sometimes, but you're absolutely not a murdering monster. And you certainly don't break everything you touch."

"Okay, so yeah, I'm obviously not a creature made from sewn together body parts of corpses, and I'm not running around killing people, but that's beside the point." He looked mildly amused and she rolled her eyes.

"But you're not a bad person, either."

"Who says?" She asked, meeting his eyes again.

"I do," He announced, challenging her with the confidence in his voice, "You're not the bully you make yourself out to be."

"And why not?" She met his challenge, holding his stare with narrowed eyes with an unexpected intensity. "What makes you think you know _anything, _Football head? Since when did you become the 'Helga expert', hmmn? Before this summer, we barely ever talked. What gives you the right to assume you know _jack shit _about me?"

He was speechless for a moment, thrown off by her sudden anger. But when he'd collected himself, he spoke again. This was not an argument he was giving up on. "You throw threats around like you want to fight everyone, but I've never seen you do anyone serious injury. Deep down, I don't think you want to hurt people. Besides break Brainy's glasses on a regular basis, I don't think you've really ever done anything that bad."

"But Arnold," she argued, "That's just it. You think I haven't ever done anything bad because you always assume the best in people. But I _have _done bad things, Arnold, things I'm not proud of."

He folded his arms and looked at her skeptically. "If you're so terrible, then give me an example. You're always threatening to punch people. Have you ever actually _done _it? I mean, other than with Brainy?"

"I've fought with lots of people. Did you really think that I was just calling my fist old Betsy and waving it around for show?"

He studied her for a moment before speaking. "What if I think you're bluffing?"

"Remember in the eighth grade when Sid broke his nose, and he said it was from fighting off muggers on the subway?"

"Yeah?" he asked, wondering how this related.

"Well it was really because I punched him."

"You punched _Sid?_ _Why?" _

She shifted uncomfortably and looked away from him. _No point in beating around the bush… _"Because he tried to grab my boob."

Arnold choked and went into a coughing fit. "_Sid _did _what?!" _he asked when he had recovered enough to speak.

"I'm pretty sure you heard me the first time."

"But why would he—" He struggled for words and suddenly an obvious question came to mind. He looked at her in a mixture of disbelief and suspicion. "What were you two _doing_?" He almost seemed afraid of the answer.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. We had to work on a home economics project together that involved sewing a shirt. When he had me try it on, he got a little handsy. End of story."

"Oh. Well. Um. Okay then." A heavy awkward silence fell over them before Arnold broke it. "Just what do you mean by '_handsy'_?"

"Arnold, we went over this," she said, fighting the blush on her cheeks, "He made a grab for the goods, and I punched him."

"_Sid _actually tried to…?" He trailed off, a mixture of shock and revulsion clogging up his throat.

She squirmed a little, beginning to feel a little offended. "Yeah, he did. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"It's just…. It's _Sid." _

"Well, you remember what Sid was like in middle school, don't you? He was a _huge _pervert. Totally out of control hormones. The kid probably would've groped a _tree_ if it had breasts."

Arnold made a small gagging sound. "I know, but I still can't believe he'd actually… I mean you've always been more of one of the guys. Not that we didn't notice that you weren't; I'm sure we all thought about—" he cut himself off abruptly and shook his head, realizing that they were going off topic and he was on a path to embarrass himself very quickly. "So you punched Sid in the face once. I don't think that counts, since he kind of deserved it."

She gave him a look.

"Okay, he _really _deserved it," he amended before continuing. "You're still not like the other bullies. I mean, it's not like you've ever pulled anyone behind a dumpster and beat them up."

Helga suddenly found the carpet very interesting.

"Helga?" he cautiously asked, "You haven't, have you?"

She sighed and looked up towards the ceiling. "It's cute that you think I'm so innocent, Arnold, but I'm not lying when I say that I've been in my fair share of fights. There's a reason I have a reputation as a bully."

"When did all of these fights happen? Other than brainy, I've never seen you actually beat someone up."

"Most of it happens where you _wouldn't _see it, behind closed doors and in dark corners and stuff…. And I only did the dumpster thing once. Everything else was pretty much self defense."

He gaped at her, appalled at the idea. "_Self defense? _Helga, who's been attacking you?"

"Usually no one if I can help it, but sometimes when you're wandering the city because you can't stand being at home, you run into bad places, bad people… And you have to show them that they can't screw with you, or you'll never survive. I've generally always stuck to myself, so it's not usually a problem…. But sometimes things happen." Her eyes drifted far away and he shivered.

Arnold leaned back against his own bed and stared at the ceiling, absorbing this information with a troubled expression. He glanced at the clock. It read ten. _How did it get to be so late all of the sudden? _"So…." He said eventually, deciding that there were some topics that he didn't have an answer to at the moment, "Who'd you beat up behind a dumpster?"

She frowned and crossed her arms, snagging a blanket from her bed and hugging it to her. "Iggy, when we were sixteen."

"Iggy? Really?" This surprised him, but only slightly. Iggy had been known to be a jerk from time to time. "What did he do?"

She shrugged. "Not much, really. He was being an ass, but still… It was kind of a bad time for me."

He watched her carefully, noting that she still refused to look at him. "How so?"

She flushed a little. "It's kind of a long story, and it doesn't have a happy ending. I'm not sure if you want to hear it."

"Try me," he challenged, finally managing to catch her eyes.

Her brows rose. "Oookay," she agreed, taking her time on the word, "But if we're going to do this, then I'm getting comfortable." She pushed the food aside and pulled her pillow down from her bed, fluffing it a little before stretching out on the carpet and resting her head on it. "Remember, though, you asked for it…" She closed her eyes . "Bob was having money issues, mostly because of Miriam's favorite past time. It also didn't help that he'd made some moronic decisions with the beeper empire. They started fighting about it, which was pretty normal, but this was…. Worse than usual." She cringed at the memory.

Arnold's brows knitted together. This story didn't sound like it was going anywhere good. "They didn't take it out on you, did they?"

"No," she assured, still focusing on the ceiling, "I could hear them out on the street when I came home, so I used the window and avoided the crossfire all together. But I _did _hear it when he stormed out of the house. That's not normal. We didn't know when he was coming back or anything. So of course Miriam gets drunk, and passes out on the couch, and I just went to bed… except the next morning I couldn't wake her up. Usually, if you shake her a little she'll at least _kind _of respond. But this time? Nothing. It scared the crap out of me. I wasn't even sure if she was breathing. Bob still wasn't home, and he had a car, and I had no idea what to do, so I called a cab and took her to the hospital myself. And then I walked to school, because they'd been threatening to flunk me if I missed anymore days, and neither of my parents were around or conscious enough to excuse me. So I make it to lunch before I get called to the office. Bob's on the phone, and he's flipping out and demanding to know where everyone is. I tell him that Miriam's in the hospital and he starts freaking out at me, but get this: he's not mad because I didn't stay with Miriam, he's mad because he doesn't know how he's going to pay for it."

"He didn't care about your mother?" Arnold interrupted, disbelieving.

"Well… it's not that he didn't _care, _exactly," she reluctantly admitted, not sure why she had the urge to defend Bob of all people. "You see… Bob is what I like to call 'emotionally handicapped' when it comes to expressing his feelings. He knows how to be angry, and that's about it. When someone has an issue in my family, the standard procedure is to sweep it under the rug. He _literally _told me to do that once. The only thing that he actually _does_ know how to worry about is money. So in a messed up way, being so mad about how much it was going to cost was just his way of worrying about her."

"Helga," he said, slightly awe sturck, "That's very insightful."

She rolled her eyes and folded her arms behind her head. "Don't get all sentimental on me now, Hair boy."

He chose to ignore her jab and get back to the topic at hand. "So, what'd you do?"

The scowl returned to her face. "I hung up on him, and I went to the parking lot for some fresh air. When I get there who do I find but Iggy, just smoking away behind the dumpster with his stupid little cigarette, trying to look cool. Then he sees me, and I don't know how, but _somehow _he knew. He _knew _that my mom was in the hospital. And of all the stupid things, he asks me if I'm ready to join her in AA yet…. And I just couldn't take it. So I beat him up."

There was a long pause. "Helga…" Arnold murmured, "…I'm sorry."

The look in his eyes was making her uncomfortable and she squirmed. "Quit looking at me like that. It's not like that happens every day or anything."

He nodded and looked away. "If anything like that ever happens again, and you need someone to talk to, then you can talk to me, Helga. I'm here if you ever need me."

She turned her head to blink at him in surprise. "I-I'll remember that. You're not going to chew me out for beating Iggy up?"

"No," he said, shaking his head, "I'm not saying that you did the right thing, but I understand why you did it, and, well…" He shook his head, more vigorously this time, and looked her in the eye. "I haven't had parents since I was two. My grandparents had to raise me, and they're great and all, but… it's just _not the same thing. _The fact that you _have _parents and they treat you like that, it's… just _horrible, _and it make me so…." He glared down at the carpet and his hands clenched into fists. "…so _mad." _He let out an angry huff and looked at her again. "I'm sorry you've been alone for so long."

Helga's breath caught, and her throat seemed to clench shut. She gulped heavily and turned her face to the ceiling, blinking away the stinging in her eyes. Of all the things he could've said, he had to say _that. _"I haven't been totally alone," she mumbled, clearing her throat a little, "I had Phoebe, and I…"…_and_ _I had you, _"…I did okay."

They sat in silence for a while, Arnold still propped up against his bed, Helga sprawled out on the floor. After a second, she turned onto her side and looked at him, her face thoughtful. "We both got the short end of the stick, didn't we, Arnold?"

"You mean parent-wise?"

"I mean we both had to live with being alone in this messed up world," she explained softly, "My parents barely notice that I exist, and yours…" She trailed off, not really knowing how to say it without being insensitive. "Sorry," she eventually mumbled, "I probably shouldn't have brought it up."

Arnold stared off into space for a long while, his face pensive. Suddenly he let out a defeated sigh, grabbed his pillow, and joined her on the floor about a foot away. Once his head was comfortably situated, he stared at the ceiling and began to speak. "When I was ten, I found my dad's journal in the boarding house attic. It was incredible. The things they did, they're _amazing. _I kept hearing about what great people they were, but I didn't really believe it until I read that journal. I was too young to remember much about them, so all I've ever really had was what other people told me. This was _my dad _telling me about them. It wasn't the same as having them there, but in a way, it made me feel like I knew them." He paused for a moment, and then smiled. "Did you know that I was born in the middle of a volcanic eruption?"

"A Volcanic eruption?" she questioned in a flat voice, "Like in the middle of the lava and everything?"

Arnold nodded. "I'm completely serious. It was in the middle of a temple, during a volcanic eruption, with lava and the whole nine yards."

She stared at him straight faced for a moment before shoving her face in her pillow and snickering into it. Once she'd gotten her laughter under control, she lifted her head and raised her eyebrows at him. "You've got to be kidding me. A _volcano_? Seriously?"

He cracked a smile of his own, resisting the urge to start giggling along with her. "No, I'm completely serious. I was born in a volcanic eruption in the middle of a jungle. Honest."

She let out a new spurt of giggles. Her cheeks felt too warm, and her mind was foggy. When had she gotten so sleepy? "Of course _you'd _have a crazy birth like that. Only with you." She smiled at him before snickering again. "I feel bad for your mom."

Arnold rolled his eyes and let out a couple chuckles of his own before his face grew serious again. "I used to like to think that they were still out there, somewhere, still going on adventures. They would always revolve around getting back home, but something would stop them. They'd have to help someone or a river pirate would kidnap them or something. I came up with a lot of stories. It was more fun to think about that than them just being…. gone."

Helga frowned, her eyelids growing heavy. Gathering up a moderate amount of courage, she carefully reached over and patted the hand that was sitting between them. "Things like that shouldn't happen to people like you," she whispered, "I would bring them back to you if I could."

He smiled a sad smile. "I wonder what they would think of me if they had come back."

She blinked several times, fatigue clouding her brain but trying to stay awake. "They'd be proud of you, Arnold." Her eyes drifted closed. "Anyone would be proud of you."

He smiled, also tired but farther from sleep than she was. "Helga?" he called out, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Mmhmm?" she groggily responded, not opening her eyes.

"I'm glad you're here." She made some sort of unintelligible noise, and he allowed his own eyes to close.

* * *

Arnold woke first the next morning and was surprised to discover that he was on the floor. He was also surprised to discover (after he'd opened his eyes and lifted his head slightly off the pillow) that his hand was resting atop Helga's. And that Helga was sleeping just a couple of inches away from him. He gulped and tried not to think too much about the fact that he could distinctly remember falling asleep with _her _hand over _his_. _We must've moved in our sleep, _he thought as he carefully lifted his hand off of hers.

As he sat up, Helga's eyes blinked open. "Why am I on the floor?" she asked, more to herself than anything.

"Because we fell asleep talking there," Arnold answered, causing Helga to jump a little and look over at him.

"We did, didn't we?" she realized aloud as she sat up, blushing slightly. Her eyes widened and a hand went to her head, touching her mussed up hair. "And I'm not wearing that infernal wig!" A grin spread on her face and she stretched. "What were we _thinking_ yesterday that got us—Oh." Her smile disappeared. "Danny. Right."

"I suppose we should figure out something to do today," Arnold suggested, feeling a sudden surge of guilt for allowing her to start thinking about Danny again.

"Well," Helga said with a sigh, "Whatever we do, I'll probably have to put the stupid wig back on." Reluctantly she stood and headed toward the bathroom.

Arnold watched in slight curiosity as the door closed. _Before she remembered about Danny, I'd never seen her so happy… _

* * *

After Helga had gotten back into costume and they had both eaten, they eventually decided to spend the better part of the day playing racquet ball. The returned to the room several hours later, exhausted and covered in sweat.

"Geez, Football head," Helga panted as they entered the room, "Where does that stamina _come _from?!"

"It must have been all those years of dodging your spitballs," he joked as he checked his watch for the time. "Hey, I'm going to see if Gerald is here yet, okay? He said he'd be getting back around six, and he really wanted to show me the car."

Helga nodded and waved him off. "Sure, fine, whatever, just give me a heads up if you bring him back here."

"Alright," he announced, reaching for the door knob, "I'll be back in a bit." With that he was gone.

Helga examined the empty room before her and sighed. _If only the first few weeks could have been like this…. minus my looming imminent death, of course. _Feeling the still present layer of sweat covering her skin, she snatched up a towel and headed into the bathroom. As the pleasantly warm droplets washed over her, she couldn't help but smile. If she could just live past this whole mess with Danny, then there might be hope for her yet…

It wasn't until she stepped out of the shower, her dripping body leaving little puddles on the tiled floor, that she realized she'd forgotten to bring any clothes. She slapped a palm against her forehead. _Crap. _

She tiptoed to the door, holding the towel tightly around herself, and opened it a crack.

"Arnold?"

She waited.

Silence.

_Okay, so he's not back yet, _she thought as she made doubly sure that her towel was secure, _I can just run out, grab my clothes and run back in. _Jerking the door open, she quickly stepped out and padded over to her bag. _Underwear…. Pants… shirt… _

Helga jumped as the door next to her swung open, dropping the small bundle of clothing and almost losing her grip on her towel.

"Ah!"

She jerked her head over just in time to find a _very _shocked looking Arnold standing in the doorway. "Helga what—_mmmph!" _

Helga lunged forward and clasped a hand over his mouth, kicking the door shut behind them and still managing to keep a hold on her towel. "Are you _crazy _Arnold?!" she frantically whispered, listening nervously to the footsteps coming down the hall. "Do you WANT to announce to the entire world that I'm here?"

A blush spread over Arnold's cheeks, feeling more than just embarrassment with Helga pressed up against him wearing only a towel. As he moved to push her away and reply, the door swung open again.

"Hey Arnold, I heard—"

All three of them froze as Gerald stood in the doorway. His eyes moved from Helga's hand, still on Arnold's mouth, to her mostly naked (and still damp) body, to Arnold and back again, unable to comprehend the scene in front of him. His mouth began to flap open and closed soundlessly.

Arnold finally recovered some sense, and began to push Helga away. Upon feeling his fingers brush her bare skin, she reflexively let go of her towel and batted his hands away. Without the support of her hands the thin piece of fabric fell, landing at their feet with a soft plop.

A long moment passed in which every eye in the room could clearly see just how low Helga's blush spread.

Gerald took a few hesitant steps backward, cleared his throat. "I-I'll come back later," he squeaked out as he slowly backed away and closed the door again.


	19. Elephant in the Room

**A/N:**

Hehe… Yeah, I thought you guys might like that ending in chapter 18. :-D I've been waiting to get to that part of the story FOREVER! Oh, and there might be, ahem, another semi cliffhanger at the end of this chapter… eheh… I think you'll enjoy this one though. As always, your reviews are wonderful! And (again) I'm sorry to keep you guys waiting. I'm hoping to be able to update more often as summer approaches, though we shall see...

Also, this chapter contains a mild to moderate amount of language. What can I say, get Gerald and Helga in a room together and I just can't help myself. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold… At least, not to my knowledge…. Should anyone wish to correct me, feel free. ;-)

**Chapter 19: **

**Elephant in the Room **

Helga sprang into action first this time, quickly scooping up her towel and wrapping it around herself before looking at Arnold expectantly. "Well?" she asked and he turned his head to look at her with a dazed expression. "Go get him before he blabs!" She gestured toward the door. Arnold nodded vaguely and obediently headed out the door while Helga worked on finding something to put on that wouldn't fall off when she let go of it.

After hastily pulling on a t-shirt and some shorts Helga sat down at her desk chair, fidgeting nervously as she waited for them to (hopefully) come back. She'd almost started to put the wig back on, but realized (with a blush) that Gerald had seen _more _than enough to prove that she wasn't "Henrik", and tossed the thing on her bed.

Several minutes later she heard voices coming from the hallway, growing steadily louder as their owners drew closer.

"...know I said that he looks like her, but really? _Really_?" The doorknob turned and Arnold stepped inside, followed by a shocked and slightly hysterical Gerald.

"Just come in and we'll explain everything," Arnold assured in a calm voice as he shut the door, although he looked a little pale himself.

"Man, I don't know _what_ you're planning to 'explain'," Their friend made quotation marks with his fingers as he spoke, "But if it involves a naked Helga Pataki then I do NOT want to hear about it."

"It's nice to see you too, tall hair boy," Helga sarcastically drawled.

Gerald whipped his head around without missing a beat. "Shut it, Pataki."

She sneered but her mouth snapped closed.

He turned to face Arnold again and spoke slowly. "Have I gone crazy, or is your roommate _actually _Helga Pataki?"

"You're not crazy," Arnold replied, taking care to speak in soothing tones, "It's really her."

They watched as Gerald closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, slowly let it out…. And then exploded.

"What the _hell, _man?" he shouted and flung his hands in the air, "I've been saying the _whole _time that he looked just like Helga, and you've been holding out on me?! What the hell! Have you known the entire time?!"

"W-well…" Arnold stuttered, "…not the _entire_—"

"And YOU!" Gerald interrupted before Arnold could finish and whipped around to face Helga. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?!" He turned back to Arnold before she could respond. "What the hell is _Helga Pataki_ doing here?"

Helga flinched at the sound of her name. "Pipe down, would you?" she scolded.

"_Pipe down?_" He stepped toward her in challenge. "_You're _telling _me _to _pipe down_?"

She stood up and scowled at him. "Yeah, and if you don't, then I'll shove my foot up your—"

"_Guys!" _Arnold shouted, interrupting them. "Don't we have more important things to discuss here?"

"Right," Gerald agreed in a matter of fact voice, "Like how you hid the fact that your roommate is actually _Helga Pataki_?"

Helga let out a frustrated groan. "Can you _please _stop saying my name so loudly?"

They both ignored her.

"Look, I know this all seems crazy," Arnold began in his best rational voice, "But there's a perfectly logical explanation."

Gerald barked out a hysterical laugh. "A logical explanation? Good luck with that."

Arnold tried his best to ignore that comment. "Helga is here for her own safety. Someone is after her, and she has to wear the disguise so she isn't recognized."

He cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "What is this, James Bond? Who's after her?"

Arnold was somber. "Someone bad. Really bad. As in 'may be killing people for fun' bad."

Gerald rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, clearly not believing a word. "And _why _is this person after her?"

"They broke into her house, and she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Gerald glanced between Arnold's nervous expression and Helga's scowl. "You actually believe that crap?"

"Gerald, this is serious," Arnold warned in a softer voice, "The guy has her terrified out of her mind."

Helga opened her mouth to argue but Gerald beat her to it. "Helga terrified? Dude, I would _pay_ to see that."

She narrowed her eyes at the tall haired teen. "You're an ass, you know that?"

"And you're an uptight Neanderthal."

She reared back and glared daggers at him. "Lecherous swine."

"Pretentious Bitch,_" _he shot back.

"_Horse-faced dick for brains_," she spat at him and he flinched. She smiled slightly in triumph.

"You really want to play this game?" He asked, stepping towards her again.

"Bring it on," she challenged, her voice icy and dangerous.

"_Guys!" _Arnold interrupted yet again, "This is _serious!_" He turned to face his friend directly. "Gerald, I didn't tell you because Helga was worried you'd tell someone."

"Of course she was," Gerald added, "Because I will. She knows I'm not the sucker you are."

Arnold eyed him sternly. "No, you're not going to tell anyone, because that'd be a quick way to get Helga killed."

Gerald scoffed. "Good riddance."

Helga charged forward, hands balled into fists at her sides. "_You heartless piece of_—"

Arnold grabbed her arms and narrowly dodged an elbow to the face. Yanking herself out of his grasp, she stomped off to the corner and fumed. "Gerald!" Arnold scolded, "That was a horrible thing to say!"

He rolled his eyes. "You know I wasn't serious. And you should be mad at her, not me. Open your eyes, man! She's pulling the same stunts she's been pulling all of our lives!"

Arnold frowned at him. "Do you really think Helga would—"

"Yes," He answered immediately, completely straight faced, "Yes I do."

"Oh come on, Gerald," Arnold said, folding his arms, "She's not _that _bad, and this is out of her league anyway. The police are on board. She's even got a false ID. What would she be getting out of this?"

"What did she get out of pulling this crap for the _past decade, _man? Just because you don't get it doesn't mean she doesn't have a reason in that psycho head of hers. I wouldn't put it past her. Arnold, this is the girl who locked us up in a cemetery when we were nine and pretended to be an ax murdering ghost. She's got you worked over, man."

Arnold desperately tried to appeal once again. "You said it yourself, Gerald, _we were nine_! Kids do crazy things sometimes—"

"No," Gerald interrupted, "_Helga _does crazy things _all _the time."

"—and no matter how much it seemed that she picked on us back then—"

"_Back then_? Dude, she's _still _doing it!"

Arnold gritted his teeth and continued on valiantly. "—I really do believe that she means well and needs our help right now. Just, please, give her a chance."

Gerald stared at him for a long time, his face hard to read. Finally he glanced at Helga, who was still giving him a death glare from the corner, and closed his eyes. "Arnold, I know you always want to see the best in people, but you're being blinded by it." He shook his head and turned towards the door. "I'm not staying for anymore of this. Maybe you'll wake up when she stops pouring poison in your ear."

Arnold followed him, his eyes wide. "Gerald, where are you going?"

"I'm going to get someone else to sort this mess out, because _someone _needs to drag her out of here, and it sure as hell isn't going to be me." He started walking towards the door, Arnold close behind.

"Gerald,_—" _

"You're going to thank me later," Gerald said over his shoulder and reached for the knob.

Arnold grabbed his arm. "Gerald _don't_—"

He brushed the hand off. "Listen, man—" The doorknob twisted in his hand.

In a sudden movement his hand was ripped off the doorknob and his back thrust against the wooden door, Arnold's hands tight on his shoulders. Helga broke out of her fuming to watch, her mouth hanging open in a stupor. By the looks of it, Gerald was just as shocked as she was. Coming from Arnold, this display of testosterone was just plain…. _disturbing. _

"No, _you_ listen," Arnold hissed in a low, dangerous voice, his eyes narrowed to slits. "I promised that girl over there that everything was going to be okay, and _I meant it._ I'm sorry I had to lie to you, butI will not allow you to put her in harm's way just because you're being stubborn." He leaned forward, his gaze no less threatening despite the fact that he was several inches shorter than Gerald. "You don't have to believe it, but you will not speak a word of this to _anyone, _or so help me I'll call up your dad right now and tell him all about the time when you and Curly snuck into Quigley Stadium and—"

"Okay, okay," Gerald agreed nervously, gently pushing Arnold's hands from his shoulders, "I won't tell anyone."

"You promise?" Arnold pressed, his face still suspicious.

"I promise." He put up his hands in surrender.

Arnold relaxed his grip and stepped back.

"Um, hey guys," Helga spoke up from behind them, unusually timid. They both glanced at her, surprised. "Would this help?" She held out the small electronic retainer and the ID for Henrik Patterson in one hand, her eyes darting nervously to and from Arnold.

Gerald stepped forward hesitantly. "What is _that_?"

She saw his eyes on the retainer, and explained. "It makes my voice lower." She popped it in her mouth before speaking again. "See?" came out Henrik's distinctly male voice, and Gerald jumped a little. She smirked and took it out again. "Don't tell me you didn't notice that I've been speaking normally this entire time."

"I figured you were doing a voice or, or something…" He looked at the retainer with interest and a small amount of disgust before his eyes moved to the ID. She handed it to him, and he examined it carefully.

"The police gave me both of those," she explained proudly.

After a moment Gerald shrugged and handed it back to her. "Eh, Fuzzy slippers can do better."

She was about to argue when there was a loud knock on the door. They all froze.

"This is Wilson Academy Security," an authoritative voice called from the hallway, "We've gotten three noise complaints in the last hour coming from this area. We'd like to come in and take a look if you'll open up the door."

"Shit," Helga whispered and looked down at herself and her complete lack of disguise.

"I'll distract them," Arnold whispered, "Go!" She shared a second of eye contact with him before darting into the bathroom. In her haste, she threw the door closed with too much force and it banged on the doorframe.

"What's going on in there?" the voice called, beginning to sound concerned.

"Everything's fine!" Helga heard Arnold call through the bathroom door. She ran over to her discarded clothes and began to search for the wig. If she could just get even _that _on in time, then _maybe… _

A memory struck her and she paused, suddenly horrified. The wig wasn't in this pile of dirty clothes. It was outside, sitting on her bed, where she'd thrown it less than half an hour ago.

She heard their room door open.

"Everything's fine in here, sir," Gerald spoke up from the entryway.

"Johanssen?" the authoritative voice called, sounding confused. "This isn't your room. Mind explaining what you two have been doing here that's been causing such a fuss?" Helga crept over pressed her ear to the door.

"We were just studying, sir, and we just got into a… a heated discussion about our studies. Exams _are _next week, after all."

"I see," the voice said, not convinced. "Does this mean that if I go check, I won't find a girl hiding under one of those beds?"

"A girl?" Arnold spoke up nervously. "What girl?"

"Several people have reported hearing a _female _voice coming from your room tonight," the voice explained.

"Oh, that's Arnold," Gerald said dismissively, "He gets high pitched when he's excited."

Helga bit back a chuckle. The look on Arnold's face right now must have been priceless.

"Knock off that attitude," the security officer scolded, "You know very well that Wilson Hill Academy doesn't allow after hours 'visitors'."

"There's no girl," Gerald spoke up, "We were just studying."

"R-right," Arnold agreed.

"Then there shouldn't be a problem with me taking a quick look around, should there?"

There was a silence and Helga heard the floor boards creak as they moved further into the room.

"See?" she heard Gerald say, "No girls here. Just a bunch of books. We promise we'll be quieter from now on. Can we continue studying now?"

The officer apparently decided not to listen to him. "Where's your roommate, young man?"

"He's not really available right now," Arnold answered.

"He's sick," Gerald added, "Actually, he's been in the bathroom for a really long time. I'll go check on him." She heard footsteps come toward her.

"Why don't I come with you," the voice offered, and the footsteps stopped.

"I don't think you want to do that," Gerald answered, "Whatever he's got, it's _bad. _I just got over it, actually, so I should be fine, but you… well, let me tell you, you _don't _want what he's got."

While not sounding entirely convinced, the officer was apparently nervous enough to agree to wait outside. The footsteps started again and got louder until finally the doorknob rattled. Helga scampered back from the door.

There was a light rapping. "Henrik?" Gerald called and the door creaked open a crack. "Henrik, you alright, man?" He slipped inside and shut the door quietly behind him.

"What are you _doing?!" _Helga whispered.

"Stalling for time," he quietly explained, "Why aren't you dressed already?"

"Because I forgot the damn wig out there!" She angrily whispered back.

Gerald slapped a hand against his forehead. "Fantastic."

"How's he doing?" The officer called from the other room.

"Oh, it's a _mess _in here, sir," Gerald loudly called out, "You really don't want to come in." He braced himself against the door, just in case.

"What do we _do_?" Helga hissed.

"I don't know," he mumbled, "Go hide in the shower or something."

"They think one of you is hiding a girl in here," Helga shot back, "You really think they're not going to check the shower?"

"I'm not hearing you coming up with any bright ideas," Gerald grumbled.

Helga looked around the bathroom frantically, distantly hearing Arnold trying pitifully to distract the officer in the other room. A metal grill high on the wall caught her eye, and an idea hit her. She hurriedly walked over to the toilet and stepped up onto it.

"What are you doing now?" Gerald questioned, staring at her like he thought she was a complete lunatic. Given what he'd been saying about her ten minutes ago, that might not have been far off from his true thoughts about her.

"Just stall them," She ordered and began working on the screws of the vent cover now that she could reach them.

"Alright, this is getting a little ridiculous." The security officer's voice came from the other room.

"I don't know what you mean, sir," Arnold could be heard from the other side, "We already told you that we were just studying." Helga cursed quietly as her finger slipped on the third screw and bent back her nail. She went at it with the other hand, and after a second it fell to the floor. She'd forgotten just how painful taking these things off could be.

Gerald was staring at her from his position at the door, mouth agape. "Are you seriously doing what I think you're doing?" he whispered.

"What does it look like, dick for brains? Yeah, I'm doing exactly what it looks like." Her nail broke as her finger slipped off the final screw and she cursed again before she tossed it to the ground. "Now hold this for me," she ordered and handed him the metal grate.

He took it without arguing and continued to gape at her. "I can't believe you're actually going to do that."

She peered into the dark hole with a frown and braced herself against the wall. "Yeah, well, I'm a lot bigger than I was the last time I did this, so we'll see if this actually works."

"How many times have you done this exactly?" Gerald asked, and she mentally kicked herself for letting that detail out. _Oops. _

"That doesn't matter," she said, effectively dodging his question, "I'll need you to put that back once I'm in." With one last look apprehensive look into the darkness, she plunged in head first.

Arnold's voice came from right outside the door. "Sir please, he's, uh, really shy—"

"Yes, yes, yes," The voice of authority interrupted, "I've heard your excuses for long enough. We all know what's going on here. Just bring out your girlfriend so we can send her home, and you won't be harshly punished."

"Sir, we told you," Gerald replied through the door, "There is no girl."

"Then why can't you open this door?" The security officer demanded.

"Well, I'm not sure how to explain this…" Gerald said slowly before (to Arnold and the officer's surprise) opening the door, "But Henrik's not in here."

They peered into the empty bathroom, both of them somewhat shocked. Arnold shot Gerald a confused look as the officer cautiously stepped inside, checking the shower just in case before turning back to the boys. "If he's not here… where did he go?"

Gerald shrugged and shook his head as he admitted, quite honestly, "I have absolutely no idea."

* * *

After apologizing for searching their room and asking them to inform him if Henrik remained missing, the officer left. Once they were sure he was out of ear shot, Arnold turned to Gerald in confusion. "How on earth did you pull that off?" He asked and walked back into the bathroom, inspecting it for himself. "And where is she hiding?" He checked behind the door, just to be sure.

Gerald shifted from foot to foot, slightly nervous. "I don't really know anymore, man…"

Arnold stopped searching and looked carefully at his friend. "What do you mean, 'you don't really know'? You were in here with her, weren't you?"

"Yeah, but I think she kept moving when I put the vent cover back on."

Arnold stared at him. "The vent cover?"

There was a loud clanging in the other room as something metal hit the floor. They glanced between each other before cautiously making their way out of the bathroom. Both stopped in their tracks at the sight that greeted them. There, with half of her torso sticking out of a small rectangular hole in the wall, was Helga, a large dirt stain on her cheek and dust bunnies in her hair. She sneezed and they both flinched. "Uh, Hi…" she said somewhat sheepishly, "Mind giving me a little help here?"

They gaped at her with blank faces. An awkward silence passed.

After a moment she let out an irritated huff and glared. "Are you two just going to stand there looking like idiots, or are you going help me get down from here without breaking my neck?"

Hesitantly they both stepped forward, each grabbing an arm and pulling her out. Once on her feet, she dusted herself off and tried to look casual. "Glad that's over," she announced, straightening her clothes.

Arnold glanced at the open vent and back to her. "You just climbed out of a ventilation duct," he announced. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah?" she asked defensively. She still tried to maintain a casual air, but was unable to stop herself from nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot. "What of it?"

Gerald turned in Arnold's direction. "I told you she was crazy, man."

"I'm not crazy!" she protested.

"Mmm hmm," Gerald hummed and crossed his arms, "And _how long _have you been traveling by ventilation shaft?"

"There was no other option," she grumbled, "And it worked, anyway, so why don't you two just be grateful of my skills and drop it?"

"Wait," Arnold interrupted, suddenly alert and looking to Gerald, "She's done this before?"

"I never said that," Helga argued futilely.

Gerald cocked an eyebrow. "That sure didn't look like the first time when you opened the vent in the bathroom." He glanced to the piece of metal still lying on the floor and looked at her curiously. "How did you even get that off from the inside?"

She wrung her hands nervously and looked toward the wall. "I, uh…" They watched as a dust bunny was jostled from her hair and fell slowly to the floor.

Gerald suddenly sucked in a breath. "You know what? I don't need to know. In fact," he backed away from them a few steps, "I think I should probably get out of here before something _else _happens." He shivered. "I don't think my mind can take anymore."

Arnold's face abruptly changed and he looked at his friend sternly. "You promised not to say anything…"

Gerald put his hands up even as he inched towards the door. "Don't worry, I won't breathe a word about whatever the hell is going on with you guys. I don't even want to _think _about what's happened in the past hour, let alone talk about it."

As he reached the door, he rested his palm on the handle and cleared his throat. "So, uh, I will… talk to you guys later then." With that, he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. "I really need some sleep…" he mumbled as the door closed.

In the silence that followed, Arnold cleared his throat and glanced to the still dust and dirt covered Helga. "So…"

"What?" Helga asked defensively.

"…do you travel by vent often?"

She blushed, but quickly covered it up with a scowl. "No, of course not. Like I said, I had no other choice."

"…but you've done this before," he added, eyeing her curiously.

The opposite wall was suddenly very interesting to her. "I never said that."

He watched her closely. "…but you're not denying it."

She squirmed and bent over to grab the vent cover just to avoid looking at him. "So what if I have? It turned out to be a pretty handy skill, didn't it?"

"It's a pretty unique one, too," he pointed out and she could feel his eyes peering into the back of her skull. "You must have been in a pretty desperate situation to—"

"What's with the twenty questions?" She interrupted and spun around to face him. If she could just change the topic, then she'd probably be home free. An idea came to her mind. "And who are you to be questioning me about _my _behavior? You were the one who acted all…" she made a wild gesture with her hand, "….weird, back there."

Come to think of it, he _had _acted pretty strange when he'd stopped Gerald from leaving. She'd _never _seen Arnold act like that.

Arnold stared at her, perplexed. "What do you mean, 'weird'?"

Good, she had his attention. Now to follow through… "Well Arnold," she explained, "Unless you've decided to turn over a new leaf, that little physical display you had with Gerald was pretty out of the ordinary. In fact, it's probably as far from _your _standard procedure as you can get."

"Oh. That." He rubbed his neck nervously. "You've probably noticed this by now, but Gerald is kind of stubborn. Maybe even more stubborn than you. Sometimes, the only kind of reason he will understand is the physical kind. I think, because he's stronger than most people, he tends to forget that he can be wrong too. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think I had to."

"Well, he's your friend and not mine," she mused, discreetly looking for an exit before he remembered what they had been talking about earlier, "You'd know better than I would."

"I'm sure you two _could _be friends, you know," Arnold pointed out, a glimmer of hope in his gaze.

_Ever the optimist… _She rolled her eyes. "Keep dreaming, hair boy."

He shrugged, seemingly giving up the argument, but that hopeful twinkle remained. "If you say so…"

In the momentary pause, Helga glanced down and found the perfect (if somewhat annoying) excuse. She examined her dust covered skin and clothing and sighed. "I think I need to shower again."

* * *

Arnold sat in front of his desk, leaning his head on his hand. He had _so_ much homework, and it was getting so late... The stacks of paper around him seemed endless; how was he supposed to finish all of this? But he _had_ to, if he really was to become a doctor, like his parents… He struggled to focus on the book in front of him. _A_ _new_ _DNA strand is synthesized by DNA Polymerase in the 5' to 3' direction._ Or was it 3' to 5'? It all seemed so confusing; if only he could just take a break to clear his head…

All of the sudden, a hand reached out in front of him, shoving everything off the desk and sending it clattering to the floor. Papers went flying in all directions. Arnold looked up in shock to find Helga standing before him, one hand on her hip and the other flat against his desk. He was surprised to see that she was not dressed up as Henrik for once; instead, she was wearing a red satin nightgown that was so short, he was sure that if he tilted his head just a little he'd be able to see her underwear. Black lace ran down the thin shoulder straps and down to outline the supple curve of her cleavage. He felt his face heat up as he took the sight in. When had she taken to sleeping in _that_?

She was staring down at him with a sly smile. He gaped at her. "Helga, what are you doing?!"

In a flash she had leaned down to bring her face inches from his. She caught his stare with a heated gaze. "Studytime's over, _football head_." He could feel the warm breath from her words, and his eyes widened. A cocky smirk formed on her lips and she slid her hands onto his shoulders.

Shoving him back against his chair with some force, she sank down to sit on his lap, her legs curled to one side.

"H-Helga?" He stammered as she ran her fingertips down his chest, playfully undoing a button here and there. She leaned forward and he felt her lips brush his ear.

"Oh, come on Arnold," she whispered, "we _both_ know you want this." Her fingers found the center of his shirt, and in one motion she ripped the two sides apart. He heard buttons fall to the floor, but was too distracted to look as Helga had now begun running her hands down his bare chest. Little trails of fire seemed to follow everywhere she touched. One hand snaked up to his neck, pulling him closer, before her soft but forceful words were at his ear again. "Just _give in…"_

_But this is HELGA! _a part of his mind screamed. _HELGA! The same girl who's called you names and played tricks on you and rarely shown anything but cruelty to you and… and… _It became very hard to think as Helga now moved her face away from his ear and faced him head on to brush his lips with her own. "_Just give in…"_ she whispered again, into his lips this time so that he could actually _feel_ her words. The argument in his head tried feebly to continue. _…shouldn't do this… something wrong… something… oh screw it._ He gave in, smashing his mouth against hers.

She returned his kiss with ferocity, one leg moving to his other side so that she was straddling him. His hands moved of their own accord, one clutching her at the waist while the other slid onto her smooth thigh, fingers brushing satin.

As his hand began to move upward, she suddenly pushed away from him. He leaned toward her, trying to resume contact, but she held him back. "Say it," She whispered to him, her face barely inches away, "Say my name."

The hand that was not holding him back slid lower down his body, teasing into the waistband of his jeans. "_Say it._" She murmured.

The name came out in almost a moan. _"Helg-"_

Arnold's eyes snapped open, his mouth frozen in mid word, only to find himself staring at the dimly lit ceiling of their dorm room. A wave of dizziness hit him as he realized exactly where he was, what he had been dreaming about, and who was sleeping barely five feet away from him. In horror, he realized that it was his own voice that had stirred him; he had _actually_ been _moaning_ Helga's name. He froze, realizing for the second time just _who _was sleeping in the same room as him. _If she heard… _He stopped his thought there, too mortified to continue. Terrified of what he would find staring back at him, he slowly turned his head to look to her bed.

To his immense relief, Helga's face was plastered against her pillow, wig still in place. _She's asleep; she didn't hear…_ He looked back to the ceiling, still too shocked and horrified to put much thought into what had just happened. His face had to be about ten shades redder than a tomato right now. _It doesn't mean anything,_ he repeated to himself in his head,_ it was just a dream, it doesn't mean anything…_ Plenty of guys had dreams like that, right? He'd had them on occasion before, just never about _her_… But that didn't really matter, did it? …Did it? He tried to tell himself that it didn't, but a small voice spoke up in the back of his head. _It _does_ mean something,_ the voice said, _and you know what that something is._

In the dim early morning light, Arnold's face paled.

_Oh no…_


	20. Dirty Little Secrets

**A/N:**

Hello all! This chapter was delayed, as I am currently working hard on the next couple to avoid leaving you guys with a nasty cliff hanger for too long… You have my apologies for the delay. Assuming everything goes smoothly, the next few updates should be much quicker because of it. Just FYI, I giggled like crazy while writing the beginning of this chapter. Embarrassing Arnold is wicked fun!

Disclaimer: No Hey Arnold ownership for me.

**Chapter 20: **

**Dirty Little Secrets**

Arnold tried very hard the next morning to act normally. He really did.

Sadly, though, it just wasn't working for him. As he tiptoed past Helga's bed she sat up and stretched, arching her back and letting out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a moan. He couldn't help it. He jumped. Luckily Helga was too busy stretching to notice, and he hurried off to the bathroom. He wished that the door locked as he headed toward the shower stall. Not that Helga would ever try to come in while he was showering…

_Not that you would mind…_ the small voice in his head pointed out.

_Shut up!_ He yelled at himself inside his own head. Ok, so yelling at himself wasn't going to get him anywhere. And deep down, he knew that the voice was right, to some extent at least. There wasn't really much point in denying it. He took a deep breath. _Alright,_ he admitted to himself, cringing, _I'm attracted to Helga. _He squirmed internally at the thought. How? How had this happened?

_It's all her fault,_ he thought as he undressed and turned on the water, _for pressing herself up against me like that yesterday… and for dropping her towel…_ Images passed through his mind without his permission. _Knock it off! _He scolded himself as his thoughts continued to plummet into the gutter. _That's _Helga _you're thinking about, and she's just in the other room!_ He forced himself to keep his mind on other things until he finished his shower. As he dressed, and eventually worked up the courage to open the door (Helga didn't seem to be all the way awake yet, thankfully) he continued to ponder his predicament.

Alright, so it wasn't really Helga's fault at all. She had never tried to seduce him (Was that even what you called this? Was he "seduced"?). Actually, she'd pretty much done everything in her power to push him away. She was usually so mean and violent to him, and that wasn't seductive at all… An image suddenly popped into his mind involving Helga, a leather bikini, and a whip.

"Morning, Football head."

Arnold jumped about a foot at the sound of Helga's voice, dropping his half-dry hat and the hairdryer on his foot. What was WRONG with him?! He HAD to stop thinking things like that!

Helga raised her eyebrow at him from the bathroom doorway. "Did I _startle_ you?"

His face heated up. "Y-yeah. You startled me. That's all." He gathered up his things as quickly as he could, and Helga stared at him, looking confused.

"What's up with you this morning? Something wrong, head boy?"

He was already heading out the door by the time she voiced her question. "Nope, I'm fine," he said far too quickly to be natural, "Thanks for asking." He shut the door on her as soon as he was out, not bothering to wait for her to do it.

Nervously he walked over to the opposite side of the room (putting as much distance between him and the door as possible) and waited for the water to start. When it finally did, he sighed and collapsed into his desk chair, rubbing his sore foot and letting his thoughts drift off.

Helga Pataki: Tomboy, Bully, and most recently, his cross-dressing roommate. Why, out of all the girls _nice _girls he'd met in his life, would he dream about _her _instead? There were plenty of other options for his hormone driven subconscious to latch onto. Options like Lila, his old childhood crush, who'd bloomed into a stunning beauty by freshman year. Or Gloria, who was always so kind to everyone. Or even Rhonda, whose preening gave supermodels a run for their money. He'd never had these thoughts about any of them. At least, not more than in passing. Why her? Why now?

The sound of the bathroom door opening made him flinch. He hadn't even noticed the water turn off. Realizing that he probably looked like a deer caught in headlights, he quickly looked down to the book in front of him and pretended to be studying. He heard her feet pad toward him and then stop. He waited, afraid to look up.

"I think studytime's over, Football head." He jumped at her familiar words and whipped his head around to gape at her. To his relief, the wig was in place and there was no red nightgown this time. Just the standard 'Henrik' clothing. "Shouldn't you have finished that last night?" she asked, gesturing toward the book with a slight jerk of her head and crossing her arms at his strange behavior.

His cheeks grew hot, and he cleared his throat before speaking. _If only you knew… _"I was just, ah, looking some things over. Last minute stuff." Her eyes narrowed on him suspiciously. He fidgeted nervously before standing up and walking toward the door just to be out of her gaze. "Shouldn't we be heading toward breakfast?"

"Hang on," she ordered and he froze, gulping with his back turned to her.

"What is it?"

She put her hands on her hips and frowned at him. "You've been acting weird all morning. What's going on?"

There was a quiet knock at the door. "I'll get it," Arnold eagerly volunteered and jogged toward the entryway, barely giving Helga enough time to pop the retainer in. She glared at him as he passed. He shrugged and sent her a sheepish smile before twisting the knob and opening the door to reveal Gerald standing in the hallway, arms crossed.

He looked… uneasy to say the least. Apparently, a full night's sleep had not quelled the misgivings he'd had about their situation. He paused a moment to send a suspicious glance between the two of them before stepping inside without a word. The door fell shut behind him.

"So, just to make sure…" He began and slowly turned toward Helga, "…I didn't dream all that stuff up yesterday about you actually being Helga, did I?" He looked mildly hopeful.

She rolled her eyes and gave his shoulder a good shove. "Oh geez, Gerald, don't be such a baby. I'm not _that _bad."

"Damn it," he cursed and glanced between them. "I was really hoping…" he mumbled to himself and let out a sigh. "Just putting this out there, but I still don't know how to feel about this."

"Who cares," Helga said with a dismissive shrug, "As long as you keep your mouth shut."

Gerald glared at her and Arnold sighed, sensing the coming confrontation. "You know," Arnold supplied in an upbeat voice, "I think we'd all feel better if we ate something."

They promptly ignored him and continued to glare at each other. He frowned. Why was it that no one ever paid attention to his advice until _after _something bad happened?

Gerald turned to him, shaking his head. "_Man, _Arnold, how can you live with this?"

Helga snorted. "Me? Honestly, you should be more worried about him." She pointed to Arnold with her thumb. "_He's _the one who's acting all weird this morning."

Gerald eyed Arnold curiously, looking him up and down. "Weird how?"

Arnold shifted his weight and leaned away. The last thing he needed right now was Gerald figuring out what his problem was. Maybe, MAYBE he would talk to him about it eventually, but not now. Not when he didn't even know what "it" was, or when Helga was standing right next to them. If he could just get them heading toward breakfast already… And darn it, he really_ was _hungry!

"Can we just get breakfast already, guys?" Arnold suggested, sounding a little tired, "I'm getting horny."

Two pairs of eyes gaped at him.

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake. "_Hungry! _I meant to say I'm _hungry!_"

Gerald turned towards Helga, his face serious. "I see what you mean."

"Really!" Arnold cried in desperation, "I meant _hungry_!"

Gerald walked over and patted him on the shoulder, hiding a smirk, "Sure you did buddy," he said, guiding them toward the door, "Sure you did."

"I _did_!" Arnold argued, his face gone bright red as his friend steered them out the door.

Helga was left standing there, blank faced as the door slowly fell closed. _Did the word 'horny' seriously just come out of Arnold's mouth? _She shook herself out of her stupor and snagged the handle just before it latched again, stepping outside and jogging through the hallway to catch up to them.

The sound of Gerald's giggles as he finally lost it echoed through the building.

* * *

Gerald had stopped teasing him by lunchtime, but that had been the least of his worries. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't look Helga in the eye. And he had no idea how _she _had taken his Freudian slip, because she'd been mostly quiet all morning. He'd expected at least a couple jabs about this morning's incident from her, but there was nothing. The fact that he was too afraid to even look at her didn't help, either.

His embarrassment had mostly gotten his mind out of the gutter, but now he kept catching himself zoning out. Twice in biology he'd caught himself doing it, and when he'd woken up, dazed and blinking, he'd found his eyes trained on _her. _Immediately he'd jerked them away and watched the teacher until his mind drifted off again. What was worse was that Helga had actually caught him doing it the second time.

"_What?" _she'd harshly whispered, breaking him out of his daze.

He'd flushed and turned away, somehow managing to avoid her piercing gaze for the rest of the hour.

When his last class had ended he'd retreated to their room and hidden his nose in his biology book, praying that Helga would just let it go.

He had no such luck.

She arrived a few minutes later than he did, slamming the door behind her.

"What the hell is going on with you?" She demanded as she stormed over to his desk.

A small sigh escaped him but he kept his face turned to his book. He just wanted to drown his humiliation in the steps of Mitosis. Was that too much to ask? "I don't know what you mean," he lied.

"Oh don't pull that crap with me," she growled and began to pace, "First you shove me into the shower, then you can't seem to look me in the eye, but suddenly in biology you decide to stare at me the entire time?" She stopped in front of him and put her hands on her hips. "What gives?"

"I, umm…" he mumbled and shifted his weight uncomfortably, trying to find anything else in the room to look at.

"Well?" She demanded and started tapping her foot, impatient as always.

Impatience and Anger. Those were her "go-to" emotions, weren't they? When things weren't going her way she always had that angry mask she could pull out of her pocket. And then he'd have to be the one who stuck to reason, who kept a calm head while she blew up. Well, he was tired of it. What gave her the right to squeeze answers out of him when he knew_, _he _knew _what she herself was hiding behind those scowls? A frown began to form on his face and he glared down toward his book. "Did it ever occur to you that it might be none of your business?"

"If it's none of my business," she challenged, "Then why are you so cowardly that you can't even look me in the eye?"

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. _A coward, am I? _Suddenly he stood up and turned to her. The short distance between them was crossed in a few swift strides. Now standing directly before her, he met her gaze with narrowed eyes. "I'm looking at you now, aren't I?"

At this distance he could hear her small gasp, see the way her glare wavered. He focused on those blue irises that poured back into his and found himself struck by their color. _Huh, _he internally mused. _Her eyes have flecks of grey in them…_ Had he ever noticed that before? _Yes, _the little voice in his head answered, _You have_.

She tried to keep glaring at him but faltered, her lips trembling slightly. The movement caught his eye and he leaned in, mesmerized by the curve of her lips. "Arnold?" she whispered.

"Yeah?" he softly replied and found himself stepping forward until their bodies were touching. He leaned forward, barely inches away from her face. Her warm, shaky breath ran over his lips and his hands slid upward over her arms, brushing her shoulders before bracing them on the wall behind her.

Wait… the wall?

They'd started out in the middle of the room.

Arnold suddenly jerked backward as if she'd burned him. This was bad. Very bad. He hadn't even noticed that he'd been backing her into a corner. Heck, he hadn't even noticed his feet had been moving. What on earth was he _doing_?

He glanced to where Helga stood, leaning against the wall, breathing shakily and staring at him with wide eyes. Questioning eyes.

He stumbled backward and ran a hand through his hair. "I—I'm sorry," he stuttered, his eyes just as wide as hers. And then he quickly walked out of the room.

* * *

Gerald's door was in front of him before he really knew where he was going. He raised his fist and rapped on it once. Twice. On the third time Gerald finally answered, swinging the door open and complaining as he did so. "Alright already, what's the…" he trailed off as he took in his football headed friend's appearance. "Dude, are you okay?"

"I need to talk to you," he said and quickly headed inside.

Thankfully, Gerald's roommate was a health nut who liked to spend his afternoons in the gym, so they had the room to themselves. Arnold sunk down onto Gerald's bed while the man himself sat backwards in his desk chair, his arms folded over the top.

"So…" he began once Arnold was situated. "What's goin' on with you, Arnold?"

Arnold sighed and put his face in his hands. "I don't know…"

Gerald felt a twinge of worry in his gut. Had he ever seen Arnold this flustered? "Is it Helga?"

"No…" he mumbled through his fingers, "…yes… kind of…." He let out a breath and slid his hands off his face, bracing them on his knees. "Actually, I think it's me. I keep… _doing _things."

"Like that slip up this morning?" Gerald suggested.

"Yeah, well, that was one example."

Gerald waited a moment for him to elaborate, but nothing came. "So…. What _other _things have you been doing? I mean, sure that 'horny' thing this morning was a little weird, but everybody says stupid stuff sometimes."

Arnold squeezed his eyes shut. "Gerald, promise me that you won't laugh. Or throw up or something."

"You're starting to scare me, Arnold."

He sucked in a breath and let it out. "I think I almost kissed Helga."

Gerald nearly fell off of his chair, spluttering. "You _think?_"

"I don't know!" Arnold shouted.

"Well either you _did _or you _didn't!_"

"I don't know!" Arnold repeated, "I just… I got so angry, and then I didn't realize what I was doing until I almost did it. Ever since I had that dream—"

"Hold on," Gerald said, putting his hands up, "You're having dreams about her now, too?"

"It was only once," he argued.

They reached a pause in the conversation as the details began to sink in for Gerald. As he surveyed his friend's distraught form, he hesitated, trying to word this carefully. "Not to say anything crazy here, but… is there something going on between you two?"

"No!" Arnold insisted, going tense, "There's nothing going on!"

"Then why try to kiss her? Do you have a death wish or something?"

"Gerald…" he scolded.

"Okay, okay," Gerald soothed, "I was just asking. So how _did _you get out of there without being punched?"

"Actually…" He looked to the floor sheepishly, "I kind of ran away."

"Try to kiss her and run away? Smooth, Arnold."

"I know, it was stupid… but I panicked and I… I just don't understand how this happened…"

"Wait, wait, wait—" Gerald piped up suddenly, the gears in his head turning, "Before I knew about this whole thing, I seem to remember you saying something about 'Henrik' having kissed you before… That was Helga, wasn't it?"

"W-well, yeah," Arnold stuttered, "But that has nothing to do with—"

"And if I remember correctly, this thing with her kissing you happened more than once?"

Arnold blushed. "I guess it did, but—"

"And now _you're _kissing _her_?" Gerald gave him a meaningful look.

"I didn't kiss her!" Arnold protested and let out an angry huff. "Look, I know how it sounds, but it's not like that."

"Then how _is _it?" he asked.

Arnold closed his eyes in irritation. "Look, Helga and I—we're friends. That's it. The fact that she's kissed me in the past has nothing to do with it. It's only happened three times, all of which were a _long _time ago, and in two of those we were acting so it shouldn't even count."

"And the third?"

"It was a… tense situation, and I… she…" He opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for words, before giving up. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Uh huh," Gerald hummed, skeptical, "But to be clear, you had _nothing_ to do with the giving of that kiss?"

"Definitely not. That one was all her."

"Right," he agreed halfheartedly and continued on, "So let me get this straight: You're living with her, dreaming about her, trying to kiss her, and on top of that _she's _kissed you before. Now, mind telling me again how there's nothing going on?"

"But there _isn't _anything going on," Arnold whispered, "There _can't _be."

Gerald closed his eyes and shook his head. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but why not? Why _would _it be so terrible to like her? I mean, I know that _I _can't stand her, but it's what you think that matters."

Arnold frowned at the carpet, and then looked up to his friend. "Why are you so open to the idea? I thought you didn't trust her."

Gerald shrugged. "I don't. But that doesn't mean _you _don't." He paused, then added, "And to be honest, with how you're always defending the girl I was kind of starting to suspect that you had the hots for her anyway."

Arnold breathed out a long sigh and put his face back in his hands. "What do I do, Gerald?"

"I don't know, man," He replied, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms, "I don't know. But you've got a lot of thinking to do, that's for sure."

Arnold looked at the carpet through the gap in his fingers. It was a sight he was getting to know very well. "Can I hang out here for a while?" he quietly pleaded.

Gerald stood up and walked over, taking the seat beside him. He gave him a firm pat on the back. "Whatever you need."

* * *

It was late by the time Arnold returned to their room, and he was relieved to find Helga already asleep. He needed more time to clear his head, and he couldn't face her just yet. He glanced over to her sleeping form as he pulled the covers over himself, then closed his eyes. Not yet.


	21. Intuition

**A/N:**

Thanks for all of the support, guys! :-) I always love reading your reviews. Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter, but a heads up first: By the end of this one, the rollercoaster has officially started. If I did it right, then it'll be a quite a ride. I'd say more, but I don't want to give anything away.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold

**Chapter 21: **

**Intuition**

The mist was everywhere. Above him, below him, on all sides; it was all he could see. It was strange, standing in the middle of this nothingness, but it felt oddly familiar, like he'd been here before. And yet the endless gray fog was so encompassing that he began to fear it would never end, so he started walking. On and on, there was nothing but the mist. The emptiness filled his chest with a hollow ache, and his feet moved faster. He didn't know where he was, or where he was going, as long as it was out of this accursed mist. But with every breath he sucked more of the stuff in, filling his lungs to the point where he couldn't breathe.

Just as he began to choke, he slammed into something solid and was sent sprawling onto his back. He sat up with a groan and looked ahead to find the fog clearing. As the mist parted, a two-seater biplane came into view a good twenty feet in front of him. It, like this fog, felt strangely familiar. Out of the fog and into the clearing stepped a tall, blonde haired man. He had a kind face.

Arnold recognized this kind faced man.

"Dad!" he cried out and ran forward, but was again blocked by what now seemed to be an invisible sheet of glass. His father walked over to the plane and climbed up onto it before turning back towards where he'd come and beckoning with an outstretched arm.

A woman with brown hair and a warm smile emerged. She gently took the hand he offered.

"Mom…" Arnold whispered as he watched them climb into their seats. In frustration he banged his hands against the invisible barrier. It was obvious what would happen next. They'd fly off and leave him here, alone, just like they had before.

But something different happened this time.

A third figure slowly came into view from the gray expanse. As they grew closer and their features came into view he stumbled backward and shook his head. "No…"

Helga stepped into the clearing.

This wasn't right. She shouldn't be here. Something was very wrong.

Her hair was almost silver in this light. The pink ribbon from the old days hung loosely from one of her hands. Just as his parents had, she calmly approached the plane, but unlike them she stopped and turned. For an instant he was sure she could see him as their eyes locked, her expression unreadable. But then she turned and climbed into a third seat on the plane, which had appeared there while he wasn't looking. Or had it been there all along?

The engine started and the propellers began to spin. He tried to call out to them but the low rumble drowned out his voice. As the plane began to drift forward he realized that the sheet of glass in front of him was gone, or had never been there in the first place. Maybe it had been his own feet that were glued to the ground.

In desperation he ran towards them, but a gust of wind blew him back, whipping his hair into his face and stinging his eyes. The plane drove faster and faster until its wheels finally left the ground and they soared upward. They flew higher until they were just a tiny speck against the clouds, and then they were gone. And he was all alone.

The fog began to close back in.

He woke with a jolt, sucking in a sharp breath of air. That had been weird, to say the least. He'd had that dream (or variations of it) numerous times; it had haunted him throughout his childhood. In all that had come before this, though, the only ones to leave on that plane had been his parents. Why had Helga been there this time? It didn't make any sense._ At least she wasn't straddling me, _he mused. Still, a nagging feeling of unease hung over him, lingering in the pit of his stomach.

It followed him all day.

* * *

"Mr. Patterson, may I speak with you after class?"

Helga sighed and stepped out of the stream of students exiting the room. Given what a pain it had been avoiding this guy last time, she figured that she might as well get it over with now.

"Alright, what is it?" She asked impatiently as the last student finally left the room.

Mr. Volker glared down his nose at her. "If you were any other student, I might've given you detention for talking to me that way."

She put a hand on her hip and tapped her foot. _Don't like my attitude? _She thought angrily, _Then maybe you shouldn't have entered my name into that contest behind my back and gotten me that much closer to being murdered. _If he had a problem, she would be happy to remind him that with a few well-chosen words to the right people, she could get him fired. It might also put her in danger, but that was beyond the point. And he didn't need to know that anyway. "But I'm not 'any other student'," She repeated sassily, "So cut to the chase."

He sent her a long disapproving look before finally continuing. "Mr. Redwood has recently come across a case of food poisoning, and as such will not be able to perform in the festival tomorrow. I know it is short notice, but as runner up, would you be willing to compose and read a poem in his place?"

She hesitated, unsure. Did she really want to get involved with this again, now that she had a choice? "What's in it for me?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"The glory of having your work appreciated by the public," he announced, puffing out his chest proudly. When she cocked an eyebrow, but was otherwise unaffected, he deflated. "...and exemption from my final exam," he added in a grumpy voice.

One poem for exam exemption? She could do that. After not being one of the winners, she _had _been a little disappointed that she'd have to take it. And Gerald _would _already be there, anyway. That meant Arnold would be there for sure. "Alright," she reluctantly agreed, "I'll do it."

Mr. Volker clasped his hands together in excitement. "Good, there will be a bus ready to take you and the rest of the class over to the festival after classes tomorrow have concluded. Be ready."

The rest of the class would be there? Ugh. She gave a vague wave in Volker's direction and turned to walk out the door, mumbling, "Fine, whatever," as she went.

Volker frowned disapprovingly all the way.

Honestly, she wouldn't have normally have been that rude to him (probably), but she had a lot on her mind. Arnold had been behaving so strange lately… and then there was that "conferentation" last night. It had really seemed like (dare she even think it?) he was going to kiss her. _Oh, my darling, _she silently swooned as she sat in her next class, _What could possibly have compelled you to act that way? _And then he'd just run off without even a word of explanation, and not come back until he thought she was asleep. Of course she hadn't been; she'd only pretended as her stomach churned with butterflies. This little stunt he'd pulled had kept her up all night, her mind unable to sit still. _Could he really be coming to see me as more than just his personal tormentor?_

But alas, they hadn't spoken a word to each other since the incident, and that thought was a dangerous one. She knew well the hazards of hope, and the pain it could bring. Boy did she wish she could call Phoebe right now.

Still, though, it was undeniable that he had been acting out of the ordinary; the signs were too obvious. But _what_, though? What had caused this sudden shift in behavior? Try as she might, she couldn't quell the fantasies that snuck into her head. Maybe, one day, they really could drink wine together in Paris as she read him one of her poems and stroked his hair… Or enjoy the view high atop some balcony overlooking a quaint little river village, and then he'd lean in and….

_No, _she scolded herself as she walked into their room, _I'm not going to torture myself. _She couldn't keep leading herself on like this. It wasn't healthy. She'd been daydreaming about him for, what, fourteen years? And look where that had gotten her—nowhere. She glanced to where he sat with his back turned, his nose in a book. Avoiding her, of course. _Maybe it's time, _she thought and her heart skipped a beat, _Time to stop being a coward and tell him. _She gulped. _And not take it back. _But she couldn't just tap him on the shoulder and say it. And he didn't exactly seem in the most talkative of moods. If only she had some other way she could tell him…

An idea struck her and her stomach started to do flips. Could she do it? Well, that was obvious. Of course she _could. _But… should she? The last time she'd confessed to him, it'd been in the heat of the moment, and more importantly, in private…

With a large gulp, she sat down and began to write…

* * *

Somehow, Gerald had managed to bribe Volker into letting him drive himself (along with Arnold and Helga) to the Arts Festival. This gave him a chance to test drive the new car his dad was letting him use for their last week up here. After seeing it for the first time, Helga understood slightly more why Gerald had been so excited to drive the thing: the shiny red convertible was bound to turn a few heads.

"_Wooooo!" _Gerald screamed as they zoomed along the highway with the top down, the wind ripping wildly through their hair.

"Mind getting us there in one piece?" Helga shouted from the back seat, gripping the edge of the leather seat tightly. Her other hand was busy keeping her wig from flying off.

"Oh, pull the stick out of your ass and loosen up for once!" He shouted back to her, but slowed down anyway as they drove into the parking lot. He turned to Arnold as they pulled into the parking space, his ears still ringing from the wind. "What should I name this baby?"

"You've only got the car for a week," Helga piped up from the back. "Why would you bother?"

Gerald ignored her. "So what should I name her?" he asked again.

"_Her_?" Arnold asked, cracking a smile for the first time all day, "What makes you think it's a she?"

Gerald pressed the button to put the roof back on. "She's _red, _of _course _she's a she!"

They got out and Gerald pressed his hands against the hood. "Just _look _at her!" He rubbed the headlight affectionately before turning to Arnold again. "I'm thinking 'Lola', or 'Chloe'. Or maybe 'Elvira'…"

Arnold chuckled and shook his head. "Aren't you guys going to be late if you don't get in there soon?"

Gerald patted the car again. "They can wait for true love…"

Helga rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the vehicle. "Oh, come on you chuckleheads…"

The Wilson Hill Community Center was a large building, and the audience turnout was more than Helga had expected. It made her palms sweat as they made their way to their seats. She stuck her hand in her pocket and fingered the notecard her poem was written on.

There'd been performances all day; people came and went freely to watch and celebrate the Arts in the Wilson Hill Community. Before any poetry was read, they had to sit through a five minute act by the Wilson Academy show choir. After a short break, Gerald headed over to the side of the stage and made his way on. Helga tried to calm her breathing. _I'm next. _

She was pretty sure Gerald's poem must've been good, because there was a lot of loud clapping and cheering as he left the stage, but she had no idea what it'd been about. She hadn't heard any of it; her nerves must have somehow turned off her ears. Seeing that it was her time to go, she quickly turned to where Arnold was sitting in the seat next to her.

"Arnold," she said urgently, "When I go up there…"

He looked to her, surprised and slightly wary. "Yes?"

"Just… listen closely to it, okay? I want to tell you something about it once you hear it."

She waited for him to nod before standing up and walking towards the side stage, passing Gerald as she went. _You can do this, Helga old girl, _she thought as she headed through the dark doorway that led to backstage. The only light came from the nearby exit sign above a fire door, making it difficult to even see the stairs. Briefly she played with the idea of running out the emergency exit before reading her poem. But that wasn't an option; she _had _to do this. There was no turning back now.

Slowly, she climbed the stairs and then paused just behind the curtain, looking over her notecard before shoving it back into her pocket. This one had been memorized the moment she'd written it. Letting out one last, long breath, she stepped out into the harsh spotlight and stepped up to the microphone.

Her eyes scanned the audience, eventually settling on Arnold. Then, she began to speak.

"_Hidden beneath a shell of lies, _

_She hides what is her greatest prize."_

She tried to keep eye contact with him, but it was difficult. What was that expression on his face? Fear? Hope?

"_She'll hide it under a pink bow,"_

Oh no. Was that Dread? Why were his eyebrows tilting up like that? Her stomach churned and she looked away, her eyes settling on an older Gentleman seated several seats behind them.

"_Under the scowls you think you know."_

She was such a coward. She couldn't even look him in the eye, but instead had to look at this old guy.

"_She'll hide it in the taunts and jeers,_

_And tuck it away with all her fears."_

Actually, for an old guy this man had surprisingly smooth skin. Huh. That was kind of weird.

"_Locked away, just under the surface, _

_It conceals her true purpose."_

And he was wearing sunglasses. Indoors. Who _did _that?

"_For this cherished thing hidden in her youth," _

The older man leaned forward in his seat and smiled, removing his sunglasses. It was hard to tell from this distance, but there was something off with his face. With his eyes.

"_Is not made of gold—" _

Helga stuttered as the light caught the man's face. This man's skin did not match his grey hair because he was not old. He was wearing a wig, just like she was. And his eyes…

"—_o-or sapphires so blue,_"

…were two distinctly different colors: moldy green and deep blue. _Danny. _She glanced back down to Arnold, panic now lighting her eyes, and tried to think of a way to signal to him. But what could she do from here?

"_This p-precious thing, this s-solitary truth,"_

Her eyes flew back up to Danny as he stood up and walked toward the back of the auditorium, disappearing from view. Helga's hands began to shake.

"_Hides in her heart because she loves you."_

As she finished she glanced to Arnold, and hurried back behind the curtain. _Just get to Arnold, _she told herself as she raced down the stairs, _Then get out of here, and we'll call the police. _She caught sight of him through the doorway and paused, seeing his head tilted downward, his face unsure. Shaking her head, she pushed her emotions aside and stepped out.

A hand snaked out from behind and pressed a cloth over her mouth, pulling her back in to the darkness. Helga sucked in a breath to scream and a sickly sweet smell filled her nostrils. Her head suddenly swam with dizziness. She only managed a muffled cry before her knees buckled under her. The last thing she saw as she lost consciousness was Danny Usher's smiling face.


	22. Breathless

**A/N:**

So, this chapter is being posted a day later than expected because of computer troubles. Sorry about that! I know I left you guys on a cliffhanger and all… Now, this chapter contains some kinda dark stuff. I'm hoping I didn't overdo it, but what was in there I thought was necessary. We're really in the thick of it now…

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold.

**Chapter 22: **

**Breathless**

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and Arnold turned, looking over his shoulder. He could've sworn that he'd heard something, but all he saw behind him was the empty doorway to the stage. Beside him, Gerald stood up and stretched. "Ready to go, man?"

Arnold ignored him. "Gerald, did you hear something just now?"

"No," Gerald said and shrugged.

He frowned and surveyed the auditorium as people came and went between events. "I just have this bad feeling…"

"Maybe it was that poem," Gerald suggested and waggled his eyebrows.

Arnold shot him a glare but otherwise ignored him and continued to scan the room. "Shouldn't she have been back by now?" he whispered as the room started to clear out.

"I'm just sayin', after _that _display, maybe she _wanted _to be alone for a while. You know, with, uh, everything that's been going on with you? She could've taken the bus home."

He watched he next crowd of people begin to filter in. The feeling of unease he'd had ever since Monday night settled into his gut and he shook his head. "Something's not right here."

Gerald looked at him, slightly exasperated. "Arnold, we _just _saw her. She was fine. What could've happened?"

Arnold turned to face him directly. "Gerald, could you drive me somewhere?"

He looked at him skeptically. "Where are we going?"

Arnold started toward the doorway. Sitting still was driving him crazy. "I'm not sure."

Gerald followed him out the door. "I mean, I'm all for taking her for a joyride, but I get the feeling that's not what you're planning to do."

They reached the convertible and Gerald paused outside. "Arnold… I have to know _where _we're going before we actually _go _anywhere."

"Just get us on the road," he said as he opened the door and slid inside, "We'll go from there."

* * *

Helga was jostled into wakefulness as her head hit something hard. She jerked away and her eyes blinked open to find blackness—a blindfold. There was something in her mouth, too. Fabric. It tasted terrible. Her wig must've fallen off at some point, because she could feel her hair pressed up against her cheek. The surface she was laying on bounced and her shoulder bumped against the wall. A steady crunch of gravel reached her ears. She was in… a car?

In a panic she kicked her legs but found them, along with her arms, to be restrained by something. By the feel as it rubbed against her wrists, it must have been a hard plastic. She managed to crane one of her hands around to touch one of the things on her wrist. By the feel as it chaffed against her skin, it must have been hard plastic. Her fingers ran along its edges and found small ridges. It was a zip tie, she realized.

_Oh please let me be dreaming, _she pleaded inside her head, whimpering, _Please let this just be a dream and I'll wake up any minute now…_

For a long time there was only the sound of her own unsteady breathing and the hum of the engine, which she barely heard over the beating of her heart in her ears. It could have been hours or minutes, but eventually she was jostled again and the truck came to a stop. There was a door slam and the sound of footsteps…

And then another door clicked open and a rush of air ran over her. Tiny streaks of light leaked in at the corners of the blindfold. She blindly squirmed away (or what she thought was away) but hands reached her anyway, and she found herself being lifted. She tried to use both feet to kick him but only met air.

Her mouth was gagged but she tried to scream anyway, letting out a muffled "Grrraaaagh!"

A door opened and she felt them be taken inside, down a set of stairs… Her body twisted back and forth, trying to throw him off balance, but he had a tight grip. _Fall, damn you! _

Despite her struggles, he still reached his destination and she was placed face up on a solid surface with surprising gentleness. The blindfold was ripped off, and she discovered that they were in a nicely furnished laundry room. There was a table in the center, which she was currently laying on, and Danny was standing above her, grinning down wickedly.

"So we meet again, dear Helga."

She thrashed and screamed through the gag. "_Helgth_!"

He made a clucking noise with his tongue and shook his head. "Now now," he scolded and tapped her on the nose, making her flinch. "Don't be so hasty. If you're difficult, I'll have to speed things along."

He walked to the doorway leading to the staircase and stuck his head out. "Phillip," he called out, "I'm going to get things heating up, but I need you to make a supply run."

With his back turned away from her, Helga took her chance, rolling her body over the side of the table and landing on the linoleum with a hard thump. _Ow… _

Danny twisted around at the noise. She was dazed for a second, but managed to make it to her knees before he made it to her. He looked amused. "Did you really think you were going to get anywhere like that?"

She glared as he walked towards her, but didn't move. At the last second she rolled onto her back and, using her momentum to lift her bound legs, kicked him in the stomach. He stumbled backward with a quiet "Oof."

Doing the best she could with her hands and feet bound she wormed her way towards the door, making it to the threshold by the time he recovered.

"I didn't want to have to use this," she heard him say behind her, and then there was suddenly a searing pain in her back that radiated through her body. Her muscles spasmed and she fell to the floor, twitching. The bastard had a _tazer_…

His footsteps came from behind and he lifted her up again. Still in shock from the pain, she was unable to struggle as he again placed her onto the table. "I've been reading your work," he murmured and produced a small pink book from his jacket pocket. _Her _pink book. "And I have to say, I'm impressed. You're a very…" He ran a hand through her hair. She regained enough muscle control to flinch away. "…_special _person, and require _special _treatment."

She squirmed away from him, still too dazed to move much. He bent down, reaching in a bag at his feet and pulling out a roll of duct tape. He pinned her shoulders down with his elbows and wrapped the duct tape around her chest, and then her legs.

"Be still, sweet Helga," he ordered, "Or I'll have to make you. Now we wouldn't want that, would we?"

She thrashed harder against her restraints. "Fugh uff!"

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he turned to fish through his bag again, talking as he searched. "Not so sweet, are we? You're so cross; so at odds with your art…" He shook his head as he finally pulled several small objects out. "It's rather a shame that I have to dampen such vibrancy. Your reactions would have been…" A minor shiver passed through him, "…delicious, I'm sure." As he reached the tableside again, he lifted a small vial of clear liquid into the light. A syringe appeared in his hands, which he used to draw up a small portion of the substance. "But I fear that I will get no proper work done as you are."

Helga's eyes widened as the gleaming needle came down toward her arm and she struggled against her bindings, trying to pull away. It was futile, though, as she was already taped to the table, and all he needed to do was grab her arm and still her enough to allow the needle to prick her skin. She watched helplessly as the plunger went down and the clear fluid disappeared. It could've been water with how innocent it looked. But as a strange cold sensation ran up her arm, she knew that whatever the mysterious liquid was, it _wasn't _water.

Danny stepped around toward her head. She flinched at his touch when his hand grazed her cheek, but then, to her surprise, he took off her gag. A strange taste had filled her mouth that, she realized with a terrifying clarity, had not been from the foul piece of fabric. "What was that? What did you give…" A strange fog came over her mind all at once, making it difficult to concentrate. At the same time an immense weight descended on her limbs, spreading to her mouth and making her words clumsy. "…give… me?" It was a fight just to keep her eyelids open.

"Just a little something to help you cooperate," he replied, that horrible arrogant grin spreading over his lips again.

"Just… let me go…" she managed out, letting her head roll to the side so she wouldn't have to see his face. Her eyes drifted closed. It was so much work…

And then he slapped her.

Her eyes sprang open again, blinking up at Danny's frowning face above her and watering from the stinging in her cheek. "No. No sleeping," he scolded, "You need to be awake for this." He bent down to the bag again, and when he came up he was holding a strange, pen shaped object. It had a metal tip, and there was a cord attached to the back of it.

The irritation melted from his face as he looked at the object and was replaced with anticipation. Glancing to her, he smiled. "Come now, darling," he said as he plugged the thing into an outlet and returned to her bedside, "Let's make you sing."

* * *

Gerald sighed in frustration as they pulled out of yet another person's driveway. "Arnold, we've been at this for half an hour. Helga's probably back at the school, wondering where we're at. I'm tired of searching in the middle of nowhere for something that you won't even tell me about."

Arnold shook his head, at a loss for words. "I can't explain it. I just know we have to keep looking." He saw another driveway on their right and pointed to it. "There, try that one."

"Will you at least tell me what we're looking for?" Gerald asked and turned onto the long dirt drive. There may have not been many houses in the area, but they all seemed to have obscenely long driveways. And Arnold seemed insistent that they look at every one, embarrassing themselves if someone was there and just wasting gas if there wasn't.

"I have a hunch. I just can't remember where it is…" he explained as they got close enough to see the house. He looked it over once and shook his head. "No, that's not it either."

"Of course it's not," Gerald mumbled as he turned around. When they got to the mouth of the road, Gerald stopped and turned toward his friend. "Alright, I'm getting tired of doing this. I want to go back."

Arnold's brow creased. Honestly he was beginning to doubt himself too, but the feeling in his gut was so strong that he couldn't ignore it. He had been so sure… "Alright, I guess," Arnold reluctantly agreed and leaned his forehead against the window.

As Gerald turned on his signal and pulled out, Arnold suddenly straightened. "Wait!" He cried and Gerald slammed on the brakes in surprise, jerking them both forward.

"Geez Arnold, I'm _driving! _Way to almost give me a heart attack!"

Arnold tapped at the window. "There! Down the road, on the left! That's it!"

Gerald rolled his eyes and reluctantly made a U-turn. "Great," he grumbled, "Mind telling me what 'it' is?"

"Here," Arnold whispered as they approached the paved driveway. "Pull in here."

"Ok," Gerald reluctantly agreed as they turned in, "But this is the last one."

The driveway was long, as before, but significantly better maintained. When they reached the end of it, a large house came into view.

"Where exactly are we?" Gerald asked, slowing to a stop.

Arnold stared at the building and swallowed, but kept his voice steady. "Rhonda's family vacation house."

The house had no signs of life. No cars sat in the driveway, no lights were on. Rhonda and her family must have ended their vacation. And yet the front door was ajar.

"Arnold, I don't like this," Gerald warned, "I think we should go."

Arnold swallowed again. "Gerald," he said, his eyes still trained on the house, "If I don't come back in five minutes or less, I want you to call the police."

"_What? _Arnold, I'm not—" Arnold stepped out of the car. "Hey!" he shouted and opened up his door, leaning his head out the side, "Where are you going?!"

"I'm just going to check something," he replied and, to Gerald's dismay, continued walking toward the house.

"Hey!" Gerald called again, but Arnold had already slipped inside the open door. Falling back against his seat and cursing, Gerald pulled out his cell phone.

* * *

Helga had a good guess what the strange, pen-like object was now. It had been sitting near her, on a smaller plastic shelf the previous occupants of this house had been using for detergent, but he'd had to move it—the thing had started to melt a hole in the surface.

"Let's see…" Danny mused as he paced the room, her poetry book in his hand. "We need something good… ah! How about this: '_Your face is burned into my soul'. _What do you think?"

"Don't…" she pleaded. That wasn't even one of her good ones; she could've sworn she'd scribbled the poem that one came from out. Not that it mattered, but still.

"I think it's perfect," he said and grabbed the pen thing, "And now for our canvas…" He grabbed the bottom of her shirt and yanked it up, exposing her stomach to the cold air. She shrunk away from him, feebly scooting away. He stilled her with one hand. "Don't move, or I might mess up…"

The metal tip came down against her skin and slowly dragged along a path of searing hot pain.

A strange cry swelled up in Helga's throat as she lacked the energy to fully scream. Her body writhed weakly, trying to turn away from the pain.

"That's right…" Danny murmured as he again stilled her with his free hand, "Embrace the pain; we haven't even finished the first letter." The pressure on her abdomen let up, and she opened her eyes as the worst of the pain subsided into a hot, throbbing ache. She looked up into Danny's grinning face, and then her eyes drifted further upward…

Either she was hallucinating from the pain and whatever drug Danny had given her, or there was a piece of metal, slightly wider than his own head, hovering above him. Helga watched in confusion as the piece of metal hovered for several more seconds before it came slamming down on Danny's head. He crumpled to the floor, and Arnold was left standing behind him, holding a cast iron frying pan. He looked down to make sure that Danny was down for good before his gaze moved to Helga. The frying pan fell to the floor with a clatter as he ran to her side.

"Helga!" He shouted, frantic, "Are you alright?"

She blinked up at him. These were some good drugs… "Arnold, am I hallucinating, or are you really here?" she managed to say, her words slurring together.

"What on earth did he _give _you?" he questioned and began fumbling with her bindings.

"…something…" she murmured, "…I don't know… it doesn't matter right now. Arnold, I have to tell you, in case I don't make it…."

"You're going to be just fine!" he yelled at her, finishing with the last piece of tape. He reached the zip tie on her hands and [. faltered. "I need a knife or something…" He shook his head, realizing she probably wouldn't be able to walk anyway in her condition. "I'll just carry you. We'll deal with those later."] pulled out his pocket knife.

"I didn't know you carried a knife on you," she mumbled, fascinated but too weak to fully express it.

"Shouldn't you be a little more concerned with getting out of here?" he hurriedly asked as he sliced off the second zip tie and decided whether she would be able to walk or not.

"But I'm supposed to know everything about you," Helga (somewhat drunkenly) argued, more with herself than him, "How could I not know that you carry a knife?"

Coming to the conclusion that she could barely even sit up herself, he attempted to pick her up. His shirt scraped against her burn and she moaned in pain. "Sorry!" he frantically apologized and moved to her other side. With one arm sliding beneath her knees and the other wrapped around her shoulders, he lifted her off of the table and hurried to the stairs.

Finding herself in the unexpected (but very welcome) place that was Arnold's arms, Helga was reminded of her mission in life. It was more important than ever that he know. "Arnold, you have to know…" she tried again, "…how I really feel…"

"This really isn't the time!" he exclaimed as he reached the bottom stair. He adjusted his grip on her before he ascended, terrible images flashing through his mind of what would happen if he dropped her. The shift scooted Helga further up in Arnold's arms, so that she could now see over his shoulder.

"Arnold…" she pressed.

"Helga, please, not now!" he said in desperation as he began to carefully climb.

"But Arnold…" she whispered, "…he's getting back up."

At her unexpected words, Arnold quickly turned to look behind them to where indeed, Danny had gotten to his knees. Adrenaline surged through him at the sight and he charged up the stairs two at a time. He could hear hurried footsteps on the stairs behind him when he finally burst through the door and out into the dying sunlight.

"Gerald!" he cried out in a panic.

"_Holy sh—_she was actually _in _there!?" Gerald exclaimed, pushing his car door further open and standing up. The sight of a very panicked Arnold holding a mostly limp, and _seriously _out of it looking Helga brought an expression of shock and horror to his face.

"Gerald," Arnold shouted again, "We have to go, he's—"

Just then the door behind them swung open. Arnold fell silent and a cold chill ran through the air as a distinct pressure settled itself against the back of his neck. Gerald stood frozen next to the car.

"Turn around very slowly," Danny's voice came from behind them, "And I won't shoot."

His legs were stiff as his feet shuffled him around to slowly face the man. Danny didn't look calm anymore, especially with blood trickling down his cheek and pointing a gun at them. Arnold gulped. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can, because I want to, and for other reasons you do not need to know." He glanced down to Helga and back up to him. "You're Arnold, aren't you?"

"How do you know my name?"

Danny smirked, his eyes again drifting down towards Helga again before looking back up at Arnold. "Let's just say a little birdie told me. Now Arnold, I'll tell you what's going to happen. You're going walk back into the house, and put our mutual friend here back on the table."

Neither of them noticed Gerald slowly slide into the driver's seat.

Arnold steeled his nerves. His grip on her tightened to the point where it was almost painful. "I won't."

"You don't seem to get it, do you?" Danny asked, those strange eyes of his narrowing. "You're not in control here. _I _am. The very fact that you are still alive is only because I allow it. Now put her down, and I'll let you die quickly."

They were suddenly flooded with a bright light.

"Arnold, MOVE!" He heard Gerald yell over the rev of an engine.

Clumsily he stumbled back a few steps, instinctively cradling Helga to his chest. Danny turned toward the light and the gun went off, ricocheting off the car roof.

In the next instant the convertible collided with the doorway where Danny had been standing in a spray of broken wood and glass. Arnold tripped as the force of the impact hit him with a rush of air and fell backward. Splinters of wood showered them as the vehicle finally came to a stop.

Gerald threw the door open and came staggering out, bits and pieces of the broken house crunching under his feet. When he came to a halt he looked toward the pile of destruction he'd left, wavering slightly on his feet, and said in a cavalier voice, "Well, Rhonda's going to be pissed."

He then half fell, half sat next to Arnold and put his head on his knees. "This week sucks."

Arnold stared at the wreck. "Is he...?"

"Dead?" Gerald asked, his head bowed. "I dunno. I'm not looking. If he's not then he's got to be the effing terminator. Either way, I doubt he's going to get back up before the police get here."

"Are you okay?" Arnold asked now, turning to him in concern. "You didn't hit your head in the crash?"

He glanced up to the wrecked convertible. "I'm flippin' fantastic, thanks for asking."

They sat there in silence for several minutes, staring dazedly at the wreck. Everyone was quiet, afraid to say anything more. Thunder rumbled overhead and a single fat droplet landed in the center of Helga's forehead. She struggled to blink her eyes open until she managed to focus on the dark clouds above her. The soft patter of rain began around them. Arnold leaned forward to shelter her with his body, obstructing her view of the sky and the grey clouds. "It was raining then, too," she murmured.

Arnold blinked down at her, raindrops beginning to soak his shoulders and hair. "What?"

"The day I met you," she whispered, "It was raining. You gave me your umbrella to shelter me from the rain… All these years later and I never told you how much it meant to me…" Her eyes went misty and she jerked her head slightly. "Of course, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about…" she turned her head to the side and allowed her eyes to close.

"I remember."

Her eyes popped open, despite all drug induced effects. Her chest fluttered and her eyebrows arched upward. "What?"

Rain was dripping from his face now as he looked down at her. "That first day of preschool, I remember it. You looked cold and wet and sad, so I gave you my umbrella. I just wanted you to be happy." He paused and gave her a sad smile. "I still do."

Gerald silently watched the display out the corner of his eye.

Her eyes stung and she blinked rapidly. His thumb brushed away a tear she hadn't known had fallen. "Arnold, I—"

The sirens cut them off as the police arrived, quickly followed by an ambulance. She let her eyes fall closed. It was already so hard to get her body to do the simplest things. Why bother, now that she was in safety? She could finally relax. Her sense of the world around her faded. At some point Arnold transferred her to the ambulance, that much she knew.

Helga was broken out of her reprieve by a stinging sensation at her elbow. The EMT must have been trying to start an IV. 'Trying' was the operative word though, as he didn't seem to be very good at it. She cringed as she felt the sting of yet another failed attempt. _Sheesh,_ _Danny was better than this guy, _she thought to herself, mildly amused by the dark irony. If this guy didn't do it right soon, exhausted and drugged or not, she'd be chewing him out.

With great effort, she managed to force her eyelids open. She wanted to see the putz who'd turned her arm into a pincushion. To her surprise, she found herself looking at the slightly fuzzy image of a boy who appeared to be not much older than herself. She wondered about the morons who'd hired this chump. He was sweating, his blue eyes nervously darting to her face as he swiped some of his red hair out of his own. _Wait…_ _that fire-engine red hair… those grey-blue eyes…_ A distant memory flashed through her mind. At the beginning of the summer, when this whole mess had first started, she'd collided with someone while trying to flee her house. Someone _other_ than Danny. Someone pale with bright red hair… _The man I ran into… the redhead… his apprentice… _Horror swam through her.

Before she could react, Helga felt one last prick. The man had finally found a vein. A cold sensation ran up her arm, and she realized that he'd injected her with something.

"Arnol…." She managed to weakly cry out before she lost the ability to move her mouth. She was just able to see him at the edge of her vision, standing outside the ambulance. He was talking with a police officer, but she couldn't hear what they were saying. _He hadn't heard her…_ She wanted so badly to cry out for help, but no matter how much she tried her body wouldn't obey her.

She desperately tried to get his attention, attempting to somehow signal with her eyes. But he still wasn't looking at her. And the drug was quickly taking hold. It was getting hard to concentrate; the world around her was beginning to blur at the edges. Still she fought, keeping her eyes open through sheer force of will. She would live, dammit!

Arnold turned. Their eyes locked. She could see the concern on his face…

And he turned away.

_He turned away…_

Helga lost the battle to keep her eyes open, a single tear slipping out as they slid closed. Her chest began to grow heavy. It was getting hard to breathe… She focused the little energy she had left inward as the sounds around her began to mix and fade out. She _had _to live; there were so many things left to do! _I have to see Phoebe get into Harvard! _She screamed inside her head, _I have to torment Olga when she gets back from Alaska! I have to survive Bob and Miriam's lousy parenting job and graduate from High School!_ She fought with everything in her as her breathing began to slow. _I have to tell Arnold I love him!_ _I have make him love me back! I have to get married and have little football headed babies!_ _I have to… I have… _

It was so difficult to think clearly. _I have… _she managed to organize her mind into this one last thought, _to breathe…_ But her chest was just so _heavy._ She was _trying,_ trying so hard… but she could feel herself slipping. With every second that passed another part of her was chipped away, until she hardly knew why she was fighting anymore.

And then the drug wrapped its fog-like tendrils around her consciousness and dragged it down into oblivion.

* * *

Arnold glanced to Helga again, barely registering the officer's words. Was she supposed to be that pale?

"…current area of residence?"

Arnold blinked and looked back to the policeman. "Huh?"

"Sir," the officer spoke, frustration leaking into his voice, "I know you've been through a traumatic event, but I need you to try and focus for me, okay?" Arnold nodded, but when the officer still didn't speak he realized that he was waiting for him to answer verbally. He tried to think of something to say but found his head foggy. He opened his mouth, fumbling for a response.

That was when the real ambulance arrived.

The ambulance drove into the yard, appearing in slow motion and catching every eye. As it pulled to a stop they all turned and looked toward the vehicle Helga currently sat in. Details that no one had pain attention to in the commotion suddenly stood out: the out of state license plate. The run down condition of the ambulance. Or the fact that the single "EMT" was also the _driver_. Everything after that happened very fast.

The red haired man lunged for the doors. At the same time the officer drew his gun.

"FREEZE!"

Arnold was pushed back and out of the way as multiple police officers converged on the vehicle. He couldn't see with his view blocked, but there was the sound of a struggle and then a strange clicking sound. The officers backed off slightly and Arnold caught a glimpse of the red haired man pressed to the floor of the ambulance, his hands cuffed behind his back.

And then the EMTs were pushing their way through the crowd, toward her, using their deft hands to move her into safety. Then, just like that, there she was. Her arms flopped at her sides as they moved her to the new awaiting stretcher.

Sound seemed to phase out as he watched them work frantically around her. They lifted her into the real ambulance, her head lolling limply to the side.

His feet moved of their own accord, and soon he found himself at the ambulance doors, climbing in after them. The EMTs didn't pause in their efforts, ignoring him completely as they set up new IVs and checked her vitals. However, the driver noticed, and yelled back to him. "Hey kid, you family?"

"I'm… all she has right now," he heard himself murmur. An EMT checked Helga's pulse and placed a hand near her mouth to feel her breath.

"She's not breathing! We're losing a pulse!" he shouted, and all argument stopped. In seconds a mask had been strapped over Helga's mouth, able to deliver air with the squeeze of a hand. A technician leaned over her and pressed his hands over her heart.

It didn't seem real. Just seconds ago everything had been fine; This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't right for her just lay there so pale and lifeless. Helga was supposed to be just fine; he was sure she'd wake up any minute and start yelling at him. He'd been through lots of adventures and this wasn't how they ended. It just wasn't. Good stories didn't have the girl die at the end. _Die?_ He repeated the word in his head, trying to comprehend its meaning.

Arnold flinched, hearing an audible crack as the EMT's hands pressed down. The sound forced him back into reality and he watched in mute horror as Helga's body jerked with each motion of the technician's hands. A crippling fear overtook him, and Helga G. Pataki's heart stopped beating.

* * *

**A/N:**

I know, if you didn't hate me after the last chapter, you'll probably hate me now. But Please note: This is NOT the end of the story! I will not reveal (right now) whether you should despair or not, but there will be a final chapter coming in a couple days plus an epilogue. Till then!


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